All the People We Used to Know
by origamifrog23
Summary: Sequel to The Price of a Memory. Six months later, Claude finds himself participating under protest in a Petrelli family gathering. But more is going on than meets the eye and soon Claude and Peter are faced with a difficult decision.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **All the People We Used to Know (1/12)  
**Sequel to: **The Price of a Memory  
**Pairings: **Peter/Claude  
**Rating: **R  
**Warnings: **slash, AU, loosely holiday-related, starts out on the fluffy side but doesn't stay that way, liberties taken with the Season Two timeline of events  
**Spoilers: **AU after the end of Season One, but through Season Two just to be safe.  
**Summary: **Six months after the events of The Price of a Memory, Claude finds himself participating under protest in a Petrelli family gathering. But more is going on than meets the eye and soon Claude and Peter are faced with a difficult decision.  
**Disclaimer: **Heroes and the associated characters don't belong to me.

**All the People We Used to Know  
****Part 1/12**

_This story is the sequel to my previous piece, The Price of a Memory. It will be posted here in pieces in the coming weeks or you can read it in its entirety over on my live journal, which is listed as the homepage in my user profile. _

When Claude had left a roughly drawn diagram of the Petrelli family tree taped to the icebox a few weeks back, he'd meant it as a cheap joke. The thing was, after all, scribbled onto the back of a paper placemat he'd nicked from some restaurant or another, complete with grease stains where bits of food had tossed themselves off the plate. True, it wasn't one of his better creations, but he still felt that it had some merit as a kind of incisive commentary on the current state of the Petrelli gene pool and its relation to just about everyone else in the known world.

In retrospect, Claude could see how he should have better anticipated the way the subtle humor of his sketch ended up flying over Peter's head, effectively planting itself in some unknown corner of the universe where those without severe mental deficiencies could appreciate such things. Clearly, he was in need of a better audience.

As it was, the only audience he had was still a bit irritated that no one had thought to mention to him the long-lost niece he'd met on several occasions during a time that was now lost to him. It was his brother Nathan who'd accidentally let something slip during a phone conversation, dropping the name like Peter would know who he was talking about. Which he did, after a fashion. After all, in piecing together the events of his forgotten life, it wasn't like Peter could miss the whole embarrassing "save the cheerleader, save the world" episode, which came complete with its own catch phrase. It was just that in retelling the story, no one had remembered to tell Peter he was related to the girl whose life he had saved.

So now Peter had taken the drawing--or, more closely, his lack of knowledge about little Claire Bennet, the girl he'd last seen aiming a gun at his head in Kirby Plaza--like it was meant as some kind of criticism of him as a person. He'd since set about correcting his failings with nightly study sessions in which he spent hours at the kitchen table, tracing with his fingers the lines connecting each person, his lips silently forming the syllables of their names as he went. Satisfied that he'd seen enough, he'd then flip the paper over and map out in his own hand on a separate sheet of paper all that he could remember. It had gotten so on his good days he'd have the entire list down in an hour or two. But on his bad days, it could take all night.

Creeping into the flat that evening, Claude found Peter in a state of mild frustration, which was a sight better than finding him in the throes of the massive depression such an activity could sometimes bring on. Coming up behind Peter, Claude slipped an arm around the other man's waist and kissed him lightly on the neck. Peter responded to the touch distractedly, leaning into it and allowing for a hint of a smile even as he refused to remove his concentration from the task at hand. In retaliation for being so blithely ignored, Claude placed a lingering kiss at the ticklish spot just where Peter's neck met his shoulder.

"How are the pigeons?" Peter asked, still without looking away from where his finger had stopped on Noah Bennet's name, underneath which Claude had scribbled "Claire's adopted father and intolerable git--shite at parties." A small victory. Claude could work with that.

"All tucked in their pigeon beds, fast asleep," Claude replied. "They tried to convince me they deserved a place on this family tree of yours, but I felt it was crowded enough without them adding to the confusion. Then they started calling me names, said I've been neglecting them for months now, all because of you."

Peter gave him a sidelong look. "Uh-oh," he said. "I'm sensing the potential for a major political uprising."

"Aye, well, I was able to placate them with a bedtime story," Claude said, resting his chin on Peter's shoulder. "I told them this tale about this boy I knew who encountered all sorts of new and strange people from all over the world only to discover that each and every one of them was a long-lost relative from some sordid affair or another, buried under miles of closely-guarded family secrets involving convenient house fires and illegal adoptions."

"His love life must have suffered," Peter said. "Assuming he wasn't into incest."

"Well, there was some speculation on that score," Claude said. "But no, his sex life was fine because along came me and there was no reason to examine our potential genetic connection in any depth because we were already having sex and it might make things awkward."

Peter sighed, tossing the pencil he'd been holding so that it landed on the other side of the table, rolling off onto the floor. He leaned forward, scrubbing his face with his hands before taking them away and looking down at the incomplete family tree once more.

"Some people would pay good money to forget their families, you know," Claude said once the mild outburst had passed. "Me. Suresh. That man Suresh is living with now. What's his name again?"

"Uh, Matt," Peter said. "Right? Yeah. Matt. The cop." He eyed Claude. "It's been six months, you know."

"You're one to preach," Claude said. "You forgot his name, too. Don't think I hadn't noticed."

"I have an excuse," Peter said. "I forget everyone's name. You should know Matt by now."

The truth was, Claude did know Matt Parkman, whether he wanted to or not. Parkman had shown up shortly after Peter and Claude had departed Suresh's flat for greener, more private pastures in the form of Peter's old place. He'd been filled with uncertainty and some sob story about a cheating wife and a baby that might not be his, none of which was very original or interesting. But Molly had worshipped the man from the start, probably because he'd saved her life on more than one occasion. That alone had been enough to gain him a free pass into Suresh's island of lost toys.

"Anyway, I don't know what it is you're so worried about," Claude said, pulling the paper away from Peter and examining it for himself, wondering about the dozens of as-yet undiscovered branches of Petrellis still lurking in obscurity. "It's not like they're going to make you recite the names of all your relatives on national television under pain of death or anything."

Though Claude felt that in all fairness the little family reunion Nathan had arranged in Washington to introduce Claire to his wife and kids and re-introduce her to Peter and his mother basically amounted to the same thing.

"Maybe not," Peter said. He ran a hand through his hair, which had grown out to what Claude liked to think was a happy medium between the puppy dog bangs he'd had when they'd originally known each other and the more severe cut he'd been wearing at the time of their second introduction. "I mean, I know the basics. Nathan and my mother. The kids. Sometimes I accidentally switch Claire and Heidi's names--"

"Scary thought," Claude said.

"--but it's not like I don't know who Heidi is," Peter said. "It's just that…Claire is going to be the first person I've met from that time knowing I've met her before." Claude shifted, uncomfortable with the allusion to his own lies after discovering Peter's memory loss. "I went to her high school. I saved her from Sylar. But those are just things other people have told me. Like stories about someone else." His brow furrowed. "I don't even know what she looks like."

"Total jail bait, I'd imagine," Claude said. "That's always how these things work."

Peter narrowed his eyes before burying his face in the crook of his arm with a groan. Claude moved around so he was sitting on the chair next to Peter. They sat like that for a minute in silence before Claude noticed Peter had surfaced enough to peer at Claude over the top of his forearm. Claude raised an eyebrow, suspicious of the look he was getting. Or what he could see of it, at any rate.

"Come with me."

"Not a chance," Claude said.

Peter sat up, taking Claude's hand loosely in his own. "Come with me," he said again, as if repeating the request would somehow change Claude's answer. Luckily, the power of persuasion was not one Peter had had much of a chance to acquire. Or if he had, he didn't know how to use it properly.

"Not a chance in hell," Claude replied. "You know why not?"

"Because you weren't invited," Peter said. This was an old argument.

"Exactly," Claude said. "Also, your mother scares the living shit out of me."

Peter raised an eyebrow at this new bit of information. "You've never met my mother," he said.

"What're you on about? Of course I have."

"When?"

"Working for the Company," Claude said. "We were never formally introduced or anything but she knew my partner pretty well, being that she and her people were the ones handed Claire over to him and all. She didn't seem to like me much then and I don't think the fact that I'm interfering with her favorite son will do anything to improve her opinion of me now."

Peter gestured vaguely, resigned enough to concede the point.

"Also, did I mention that my former partner is little Claire's adopted father?" Claude went on, though by now he knew he'd won. "Because he's going to be there too at this festive little, pre-holiday, 'let's introduce the secret daughter to the wife and kids' family get-together of yours, from what I hear. Chaperoning and all that to make sure your family's influence doesn't corrupt his precious daughter beyond repair, no doubt. You know what he was doing last time I saw him?"

"Shooting at us with tranquilizer guns," Peter said. Another familiar argument.

"And the time before that?"

Peter shrugged.

"Shooting me in the chest," Claude said. "With real bullets, mind."

Peter sighed. "Look, I know about your history with Bennet," he said. "But he's only going to be there part of the time. I guess he has some business thing here in New York to take care of first. So technically, if you wanted to get away from him, you'd have to go to Washington with me. At least for a few days. And then leave as soon as he gets there."

Claude gave Peter a dry look. "Grasping at straws now, mate."

Peter arched an eyebrow. "You really think you could survive almost an entire week here without me?" He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair, knowing he had a fair point.

"Seems to me I have a better chance of surviving up here without you than I do down there with them," Claude said. "Just don't let them brainwash you too much. I know how they like to do that."

Without giving Peter a chance to respond with the usual blind defensiveness he employed whenever talking about his family, Claude leaned forward, pressing their lips together. For a moment, Peter just sat there, keeping his folded arms between them. But this was hardly the first time they'd disagreed on something in the half year they'd been together and, though in principle he believed he shouldn't have to, Claude wasn't above working for it every now and then. Sometimes it was a particular way of sucking on Peter's bottom lip that did it or a ghosting of his fingers up Peter's sides, underneath his shirt. Tonight it was a skillful swipe of his tongue that gained him entrance to that pliant mouth. Peter allowed the kiss to deepen for a moment before pulling away, breathless.

"Come with me," he said.

Claude smirked. "I love it when you talk in filthy double entendres without meaning to,' he said and set about ignoring Peter's intended meaning while doing what he could to comply with the second, unintended one.


	2. Chapter 2

**All the People We Used to Know  
****Part 2/12**

"So, are the two of you sleeping together yet or not?"

Back when he'd been training Peter the first time around, Claude had often taunted the boy for being a slow learner. It had, after all, taken days of severe beatings with a large wooden stick before Peter thought to access his powers and fight back. In Claude's experience, it just didn't get much slower than that. But when it came to Matt Parkman, the utter indignation on his face as he nearly choked on a mouthful of after-dinner beer made Claude think that there were those who were even worse off than Peter. Six months of these weekly pseudo-family dinners at Suresh's place, none of which had passed without Claude randomly inserting some version of this same question into one of the many conversational lulls--the man really should have known better by now. But while Suresh had long since grown immune to Claude's jibes, Parkman continued to be blind-sided each and every time.

"I'm married," Parkman said, shooting a nervous glance at Suresh and Molly, who were washing the dishes in the next room.

"You're separated," Claude said, flipping through a magazine he'd swiped from the coffee table. Some boring thing on the latest in computer technology, only marginally preferable to the slightly outdated issues of _Popular Science _that also sat among Suresh's collection. "Not the same thing, is it?"

"I have a kid," Parkman said.

"Maybe," Claude said. "Even if you did, it wouldn't prove anything other than your ability to fulfill basic biological imperatives such as the perpetuation of the human race." He flipped a page.

Meanwhile, Parkman blinked, utterly flummoxed. "You are seriously the most cracked person I have ever met," he said. "I haven't, like, the slightest clue how Peter tolerates you day in and day out. The guy must be a saint or something."

"Could be," Claude said, still not looking up. "But if you ask me, no saint would be as good as he is at--"

"That's okay," Parkman said, holding a hand to forestall him. "I realize I kind of walked right into that one, but the less I know about your private bedroom stuff, the better off I'll probably be. Like, for the rest of my life."

"Why's that? Afraid you'll get ideas?" Claude replied.

It wasn't that Claude liked to think of Parkman and Suresh together like that--never mind that Peter had once accused him, to his complete and utter horror, of trying to play matchmaker with the two. It was just that Parkman was amazingly easy to wind up. So easy it almost wasn't worth the effort, but if they were going to be stuck alone in a room together while Suresh played housewife in the kitchen, Claude wasn't about to rely solely on Parkman's conversational skills to carry them through.

At the very least, it served to draw attention away from the fact that the flat was totally decked out for the holiday season, complete with blinking colored lights and a fake Christmas tree covered in copious and unnecessary amounts of silver tinsel. This wasn't Molly's first Christmas without her family, but it was the first one since she'd been able to settle into some kind of life after Sylar had murdered her parents. Predictably enough, Suresh and Parkman had wanted to make things as cheerful for her as possible, despite their own ambiguous religious affiliations. For her part, Molly humored their clear sense of overkill well enough but every time Claude came over, it seemed more had been added to the nightmarish wonderland. Holiday films were stacked in ever-growing piles next to the television. Festive music played quietly in the background for no apparent reason. It made the place feel like an overdone department store.

"Don't get me wrong," Claude continued when Parkman failed to change the subject as any other man of reasonable intelligence would have at that point, "the only reason I ask is because Peter's been trying to decide what to get the two of you for Christmas presents." He closed the magazine and tossed it onto the table. "He was thinking 'His' and 'Hers' bath towels, but don't worry--I stuck up for you. I said Elvis salt and pepper shakers were the way to go. Tacky, maybe, but less presumptuous." He tapped his fingers on the arms of the chair. "Although now I suppose I've ruined the surprise for you. Guess he'll just have to think of something else. Shame."

"You miss him," Parkman said suddenly. "He's only been gone, what? Twelve hours?"

Claude suddenly remembered why it was he'd never liked mind readers. They were the kind of people who tended to compensate for their obvious lack of social skills by using a person's stray thoughts against them.

"Aye, well, I've gotten used to having him around, haven't I?" he said, trying to block from Parkman thoughts of the marginally sentimental good-bye he and Peter had had at the train station that morning, all the while openly broadcasting what he could remember of the more entertaining farewell that had taken place in their bedroom before that, complete with the passionate shower scene at the end.

"Okay, okay, I give," Parkman said, trying to hide his reddening cheeks by setting his nearly empty bottle of beer on the table, using Claude's magazine as a coaster despite the numerous telltale rings and other etchings marking the table's scarred history. "Jesus, you're shameless."

Claude lifted his shoulders, offering no defense or apology.

A pause passed between them in which Claude wondered exactly how clean the dishes really needed to be. The faster Molly and Suresh finished, the faster Claude could say his good nights and be on his way. On his way to what, he didn't know considering the flat was officially empty but for him for the next few days. But anything was better than this.

"Can I ask you something?" Parkman asked suddenly, breaking into Claude's wandering thoughts, less literally this time than before.

"Tab A goes into Slot B," Claude said. "Really not that hard to figure out."

Parkman narrowed his eyes. "I'm being serious," he said.

Claude sighed. "Yeah, all right," he said. "If you insist."

Parkman shifted in his seat, throwing another nervous glance toward the kitchen. Seeing that Suresh and Molly were still sufficiently distracted, he leaned forward and spoke in an undertone. "I just want to make it clear that what I'm about to tell you…well, there's going to be a lot of room for you to…" He hesitated.

"Take the piss?" Claude supplied.

"Whatever," Parkman said. "The thing is, I'm fully aware of how much the things I'm about to say are going to make me sound like my ex-wife back in the days when we were seeing the marriage counselor. But I really need you to hear me out. Okay?"

"Turns out I'm not actually incapable of acting like an adult from time to time," Claude replied dryly.

Parkman gave him a skeptical look. "Fair enough," he said. He pressed his lips together uncertainly before letting his next words burst out of him in a rush. "I'm worried about Mohinder."

"Okay." It was all he could think to say after his promise not to make any lewd jokes.

"He's been on this lecture tour thing off and on for the past couple of months, right? He goes and talks about genetics stuff and the existence of special abilities in human beings…the virus that attacked Molly."

"Right," Claude said. He'd been aware of Suresh's various, poorly-attended speaking engagements for some time but he'd never known the specifics of what he'd been talking about at such events. He wasn't surprised to hear that Suresh was making an ass of himself by trying to out the "special abilities community" but he was intrigued to hear he'd gone so far as to share details of Molly's ailment.

"Well, he's also been having all these super secret hushed phone conversations with this guy named Bennet," Parkman said. Something flashed in Claude's mind, the mental equivalent of an alarm bell or a red flag and Parkman immediately perked up. "You've heard of Bennet?"

"We've met," Claude acknowledged.

"Yeah, well, I've met him too. Personally, I think the guy's a little shady," Parkman said, speaking now like their shared negative opinion of a mutual acquaintance somehow served to make them allies. "Anyway, Mohinder's gotten pretty good at blocking me out from things he doesn't want me knowing, but I've been able to catch a quick thought here and there and from what I have heard, I get the idea that he and Bennet are planning something. Something dangerous. And whatever it is they're doing, these lectures are somehow a part of it."

Claude remembered suddenly what Peter had said about Bennet needing to spend time in New York before traveling back to Washington to be with Claire and her biological family. If Parkman was right about the connection between Suresh and Bennet, was it possible that Suresh was the reason for Bennet's side trip? Somehow, Claude didn't doubt it.

"You think I'm right," Parkman said, no doubt skimming the surface of Claude's mind to find that conclusion. "So what do we do about it?"

Claude opened his mouth but was saved from having to form an actual answer by the phone ringing, which startled him into cutting himself off. Everyone seemed to freeze at once.

It wasn't that the sound of a phone inside Suresh's flat was an entirely novel experience. Both Suresh and Parkman owned mobiles that had a tendency to go off from time to time--Suresh's playing the same tinny ring tone the phone had probably come with, Parkman's a shrill rendition of Beethoven's "Ode to Joy" which Peter had programmed onto it when the other man hadn't been looking and then later blamed on Claude. Peter also had one, but ever since Claude had figured out how to make it play some embarrassingly girlish pop song every time it rang, he'd made a habit of keeping it set to silent or vibrate.

But the ringing of the actual telephone--an ancient model with a cord that attached the receiver to the cradle and everything--was something new indeed and if they all exchanged shocked, apprehensive looks between the second and third ring, there was a good reason for it: no one ever called on the landline. Claude doubted anyone even knew the number.

"Probably just a sales guy," Parkman offered as the phone rang a fourth time. No one moved. "Or a wrong number."

It was Molly who moved toward the phone first. Drying her hands on a paper towel, she made her way over step by step, throwing a glance over her shoulder at Suresh, as if he might pull her away from it at any moment the same way he might pull her out of the street just as a bus came hurtling around the corner. But he only nodded at her as she reached for the thing, the look in his eyes clearly instructing her that if it was some psycho killer on the other end, to immediately hand the phone to him or Parkman.

"Hello?" Molly whispered, picking up the phone on the fifth ring.

The room was so tensely quiet that Claude could hear the voice on the other end even from where he sat, practically on the other side of the flat. "Is this Molly?"

Everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief as Molly's face lit up. "Peter!" she exclaimed.

"Peter?" Suresh said, turning the faucet off in the sink. He gave Claude a questioning look. "Why would Peter be calling here?"

Claude could only shrug helplessly, even as several possibilities suggested themselves to him. Peter had learned to compensate for many of the more annoying aspects of his memory problems by using, for example, the ability he'd inherited from Molly to locate people by thinking of them in order to keep himself from getting lost. Still, it was difficult at times not to picture Peter as the star of that story they told schoolchildren about the little boy who gets lost at the market and must learn that it's better to stay put and let himself be found by a trustworthy adult rather than wander off and run the risk of straying even further from safety. This was why, in addition to embarrassing ring tones, Peter's mobile had also come with an astonishingly large capacity for storing and categorizing the contact numbers for just about every person he knew.

"No, we just ate," Molly was saying, apparently in response to Peter asking if he'd interrupted dinner. Claude rolled his eyes. The danger couldn't be too great if they had time to discuss Parkman's cooking skills. "Matt made grilled cheese. It was really good. Even Claude liked it.'

"Wow," they could all hear Peter say. "Is Claude still there?"

Suresh and Parkman both raised their eyebrows, shooting looks at Claude as if he'd somehow put Peter up to this, the way some people asked their friends to call with imaginary emergencies in the middle of bad blind dates.

"He's here," Molly said, twirling the phone cord between her fingers. "Do you want to talk to him?" Peter said something in reply, lost in a clatter of dishes as Suresh, deciding the crisis had passed, went back to his unfinished after-dinner task. "Okay." Suddenly, Molly blushed violently. "Love you, too. Bye."

She held the phone out to Claude wordlessly.

"You do realize how closely flirting with eleven year old girls borders on the illegal, don't you?" Claude said by way of greeting. "As Molly's legal guardian, Suresh could have you strung up for something like that."

"They have labels on the cabinets."

Claude waited a beat in case the urgent statement made more sense upon re-examination. It didn't. "Sorry?"

"They have labels on the cabinets," the boy said more deliberately now, as if this was supposed to be some sort of pre-arranged coded message--a kind of distress signal from afar.

"I'm lost," Claude said.

Peter sighed, a rush of air that came over the phone line as he struggled for words. "They stuck labels on all the cabinets and drawers. Like, little laminated guides telling you what's in them. They even have one on the medicine cabinet in the guest bathroom and, by the way, the only thing that's in there is a bottle of aspirin and a box of band-aids. But there's room on the paper for me to add more if I put anything in there myself."

"Ah," Claude said, reading between the lines. "Your brother's treating you like an invalid again, is that it?"

"Him or Heidi or someone, I have no idea," Peter said. "They even put this book of special 'memory improving' crossword puzzles for old people in the room where I'm staying."

"You're rubbish with those," Claude said.

"I know!" Peter said, forgetting to be indignant.

A pause passed between them. Now Claude was the one twirling the phone cord between his fingers like some gossiping schoolgirl. He dropped it promptly, even as he envisioned the glory days back before he'd saddled himself with the utter, emasculating indignity of what some might call a boyfriend. Peter's memory lapses alone--and the reasons behind them--should have been enough to send Claude running in the opposite direction, and there were times when he still got the urge to walk out the door and not come back. To set up shop in a new city and resume the anonymous solitude he'd so enjoyed until a floppy-haired boy had come into his life, nattering on about trivialities like the coming apocalypse. But he'd already done that once, the first time around. If he didn't do it now, it was because he knew better what he stood to lose. Which was small comfort in times like these when he thought to himself how the person he'd been a year and a half ago would probably disown the person he was now for even thinking the thoughts that were currently going through his head.

"Claude?"

But Parkman had said Bennet was up to something and that Suresh was involved. Claude didn't like that. True, he could stay in the city and wait for Bennet to drop in on Suresh but Parkman was here to monitor that particular situation. If Claude was going to confront his former partner, he had to corner the man alone. Or as alone as he could possibly be at a painfully awkward Petrelli family mini-reunion.

He was really going to hate himself for this in the morning.

"Claude? Are you there?"

From his tone, Claude could tell Peter honestly thought Claude would hang up on him and mentally patted himself on the back for at least holding on to that small scrap of his former ability to intimidate the boy with his abruptness.

"Fine, but if I get there and find there's no labels and that this was all some ploy on your part to get me down there against my will, I will make your life a living hell. Do you understand?"

A bewildered pause. "I understand."

"Good," Claude said. "I'll be there by morning."

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**All the People We Used to Know  
****Part 3/12**

Really, it should never have been that easy. Claude had little idea what kind of security generally surrounded first-year Congressmen while they were secluded in the privacy of their own Washington-based homes, but in striding invisibly up the front walk, Claude was met by neither vicious guard dogs nor gun-toting secret service men. There wasn't even an alarm on the door to announce his unwanted presence as he let himself in. As a self-made expert on the various systems people used to protect their homes, this kind of laxness would have been pathetic on a flat belonging to a midnight clerk working at the local 7-11. But if America wasn't interested in better preserving the lives of their elected officials, Claude wasn't about to complain. At least, not when he was so intent on avoiding the scene he knew his unexpected arrival would inevitably make.

Because he'd seen those films. The ones where charmingly dysfunctional families gathered together for dreaded but ultimately enlightening special occasions only to have their most beloved member bring to the event an uninvited guest, usually in the form of a romantic interest. He knew all about the various comical disasters and emotional exchanges that generally took place as a result of the family's initial disapproval of the interloper, who would be forced to perform some heroically redeeming task before being welcomed into the fold at the last possible second.

Yes, he had seen those movies. More of them than he cared to say.

And while it was hard to predict exactly what the Petrelli re-enactment of such a storyline would look like--especially when factoring in the certifiably evil mother and the whole thing with the superpowers--Claude felt reasonably sure of one thing and that was Nathan Petrelli's ability to fulfill his role as the overprotective older sibling whose job it was to scowl thunderously at the intruder for the length of the movie. Because it was always the older sibling who, next to the cold, distant father or shrill, doting mother, was the hardest to convince of the new person's better qualities. Claude's track record with Peter's brother was already poor. Putting off making it worse--if only for a few minutes--was worth a not inconsiderable breach of etiquette for now.

Besides that, it was more fun this way.

Claude entered the foyer to find it large but not quite as cavernous as these things tended to be in most mansion-type homes. In fact, while he wouldn't go so far as to label the Petrelli taste in real estate "ostentatious," he still felt that Nathan's home was rather quaint by the family's usual standards. There was the usual collection of rooms at the front of the house, rigidly decorated for the purpose of impressing and entertaining important guests. Further back were the rooms the family actually used in their daily lives--these were the messier, noisier areas.

One such room was occupied by two young boys staring rapturously at some cartoon character bouncing shrilly across a screen in a hyperactive flash of color and sound. The older of the two sat on the couch, feet hooked over the back and head hanging so he was looking at the television itself upside down. The other sprawled on his belly on the floor, legs kicking in the air. Dressed in jumpers and trousers they'd probably had no hand in picking themselves, Claude expected that at any second a nanny would come bustling into the room, dismayed at the state of their clothes and snapping at them to sit up straight. But no one came.

As it turned out, the only persons of authority in the vicinity were the boys' parents, who were too busy creating an atmosphere of profound and unacknowledged tension in the kitchen around the corner to pay much mind to what was going on in the television room. A tall, dark-haired woman Claude assumed to be Heidi stood at the counter, sipping a half-full glass of white wine while Nathan Petrelli sat hunched on a stool at the island in the middle of the room. His own glass of wine sat full in front of him.

"Don't you think you should be getting to the airport?" Heidi was asking as Claude paused at the doorway. "Her plane should be here soon."

"Not for another half hour," Nathan replied without checking his watch. "It doesn't take that long to get to the airport."

From the yellow tape around their tones, Claude's guess was that they were referring to Claire rather than Angela Petrelli, whose name usually warranted something closer to superstitious whispers as if the very mention of it could cause her to materialize in the room.

"I just don't want her to have to wander around by herself while she's waiting for you to get there," Heidi said. "She's just a young girl."

Nathan sighed, a hint of impatience in the exhalation. "Bennet's going to be with her," he said. "He flew here with her from California and then he's going to New York after I pick her up from the airport. She's not going to be alone so just relax, okay?"

Heidi frowned but said nothing. The fact that Nathan was still intimidated by his own daughter a year after they'd first made each other's acquaintance was too obvious to need pointing out.

"Have you seen Peter at all this morning?" Nathan asked abruptly just as Claude was about to walk away.

"He went up to his room after breakfast, I think," Heidi said.

"I hope he's not planning on being this anti-social once everyone gets here," Nathan commented.

Heidi sighed, walking over to Nathan and putting a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sure he'll do what he can to support you through this," she said. "He's probably just a little overwhelmed right now. This is his first time seeing everyone since his injury."

Because even a woman who for no reason regained her ability to walk after spending six months confined to a wheelchair, hopelessly paralyzed would still think Peter's memory loss was the result of an ordinary accident. Or at the very least would insist on phrasing it that way for her own protection. Claude wondered what she'd do when it was her own kids defying the laws of science and nature.

Whatever Nathan's response was to Heidi's attempt at reassurance, Claude didn't hear it. He was too busy making his way up to the house's upper level in search of Peter. It didn't take much. For one thing, the doors to all the other guest rooms were wide open as if extending welcoming arms to the people who would soon occupy them. For another, the one closed door was decorated with a Spongebob picture Molly had made Peter all those months back when he'd had trouble telling the difference between the door to Suresh's flat and the doors to every other flat in the building.

Eyeing the picture, Claude rapped his knuckles against it, calling through the wood, "Room service."

There was a pause and then some shuffling before the door opened to reveal Peter. Like his nephews, he was dressed for the occasion in decent but hopelessly creased trousers and a dress shirt without a tie. Claude suspected a matching jacket was lurking about somewhere as well, possibly stuffed in the closet or carelessly tossed over the back of some unsuspecting chair. Tilting his head, Claude had trouble deciding whether or not he completely hated this more formal look.

While Claude thought it out, Peter's eyes darted back and forth, scanning the illusion of thin air around him the way a blind person's eyes often seemed to examine scenes they couldn't actually see. Claude stood perfectly still, content to let Peter think he was going mad. But then the boy got smart--as he was occasionally known to do--and went invisible himself.

Under that particular veil, they were like two kids playing hide and seek by pulling a bed sheet over their heads. Until Claude had met Peter, he hadn't known it was possible for two invisible people to see each other like this. It was a concept that endlessly fascinated Suresh, who was easily entertained by the various quirks governing the uses and abuses of special abilities in human beings. Claude felt that such a trick had a tendency to spoil his fun.

"You couldn't have rung the bell?" Peter asked, crooked smile in place.

"You couldn't have stuck it out for five more days on your own?" Claude countered. He looked Peter up and down, noting his relatively calm demeanor. "Well, whatever state of panic you were in last night seems to have passed. Maybe I should just be on my way."

"Did I mention the book of crossword puzzles?" Peter asked, moving aside so that Claude could better spot the book where it had been given a prominent place on the bedside table. Moving closer, Claude saw it wasn't one of those cheaply made magazine-type crossword puzzle books either. Rather, it was a fancy hardcover thing that came with its own pen and, Claude saw as he paged through it, sorted its puzzles into such illuminating categories as "Animals" and "People and Places." Fantastic.

"Fucking hell," Claude said, setting the book down. As he did, he spotted in the right-hand corner of the nightstand's one drawer one of the labels Peter had been so up in arms about over the phone the night before: an index card with the drawer's contents enumerated in painstakingly neat handwriting. Seeing the anal way in which each letter was formed for maximum legibility, Claude suspected Nathan as the perpetrator, although there was nothing to say he hadn't been acting on his wife's orders at the time.

"They won't let me be alone with the kids," Peter said as Claude wandered through the rest of the room, taking in the additional labels stuck to the bureau drawers, mostly blank as they waited for Peter to fill in their lines with the contents of his as-yet unpacked luggage.

"You didn't tell them about the time Suresh let you baby-sit Molly on your own, did you?" Claude said. "Because that was a disaster."

"That was overnight," Peter said, bristling. "This was just going to be for, like, an hour or two while Nathan went out with some friends and Heidi went to her book club. No big deal." He leaned against the wall. "I used to watch them all the time."

Claude didn't point out that Peter's vast baby-sitting experience had probably come before what Heidi called his "injury." He wondered, not for the first time, at the extent of the old Peter's idiocy in not thinking through the consequences of having his memory damaged by the Haitian. How could he not have known that it wasn't just his powers and the bad memories associated with it being taken away from him, but also simple things like not being able to hold down a proper job or not being considered trustworthy enough to take care of children for long periods of time? It was a subject that had inspired a number of their more epic fights. By now, Claude had developed discretion enough to know that this was not the time to bring it up.

"But they wouldn't let me do it. Instead, they did this massive last-minute rearrangement of their schedules just so they could both be home," Peter continued. "They haven't even let me be in a room alone with Monty and Simon yet. I feel like a pedophile or something."

As someone who would pay good money to avoid being stuck alone in a room with anyone under the age of twenty-five, Claude couldn't quite sympathize with Peter's obvious distress. Not sure how to offer reassurance, he said nothing, waiting for Peter to go on.

"I guess I'm just used to being around people who are…used to it," the boy said, gesturing to his head in that vague way he had whenever referring to his memory problems. "You and Mohinder and Molly and even Matt. You all know what I'm like. You know when to treat me like I'm an idiot and when to trust me. Nathan and Heidi…" He shook his head. "It's like they're scared of me."

Claude nodded, taking Peter's fingers loosely in his own and letting their joined hands hang between them. "So," he said, "tell me again why it is your brother's decided now's the time to be introducing his long-lost daughter to his wife and kids."

Non sequitur though it was, the abrupt change of subject had the desired effect and Peter relaxed a little even as he gave Claude a withering look. "Didn't I tell you about this before?"

"Aye, about a million times," Claude said. "Didn't see a reason to pay attention, though, did I? Thought I was going to be miles away while all this was going on."

Peter smiled vaguely, his eyes focused on their connected hands rather than on Claude's face. "I guess Claire and her family have been on the move a lot since what happened last year with the bomb in New York," Peter said. And just like using a vague gesture toward his head as shorthand for his memory loss, it was also Peter's habit to refer to the explosion in the third person. As if he wasn't the one who'd nearly taken out a good chunk of the city's population that night. "Claire was having trouble dealing with things. She needed to talk to someone she thought might understand, so she started calling my brother."

"Bet he was ten kinds of thrilled," Claude said.

"He was surprised," Peter said, both an acknowledgement and a correction. "He didn't know what to do. He told me he wouldn't even talk to her at first. He just let her leave messages on his voice mail. Then one day he decided to call her back, just to see what she had to say."

"And then it was Bennet's turn to be ten kinds of thrilled," Claude said.

"Pretty much," Peter said. "After Bennet found out they'd been calling each other, Nathan was ready to back off if that was what the guy wanted. If that was what Claire wanted. But Bennet told Nathan that he was really worried about Claire and I guess they both decided it would be a good idea to get her away from whatever it was she had going on in California and let her spend some time with Nathan instead."

"So they arranged a sweet little holiday get-together," Claude said.

Peter nodded. "Claire wanted to meet Heidi and the kids," he said. "I mean, technically Monty and Simon are her half-brothers, even if that's the weirdest thing in the world to think about."

"Weirder than thinking of yourself as her uncle?"

Peter lifted his shoulders. "I don't even know her," he said.

"Does Claire know that?" Claude asked. "Or has your family in all its infinite wisdom decided to leave out the part about your not having the slightest idea who she is?"

"Good question," Peter said, pressing his forehead to Claude's shoulder now. "I don't know how much Nathan has told her. Knowing him, he probably fed her some line about how I'm 'not myself' and will let her figure out the rest on her own."

"Grand," Claude said. "You know, if I'd known this had the potential to be such a disaster, I wouldn't have come in the first place."

"Not without a bottle of champagne and a bag of popcorn, you mean," Peter said, looking up. "You've always loved watching train wrecks."

"True," Claude. "And your family is a particularly spectacular one, at that. Always making things unimaginably more complicated than they need to be."

Peter chuckled at this. "Thanks for coming," he said. "Did I say that yet?"

"Not yet," Claude said. "Though I admit, I was hoping for a slightly more creative expression of gratitude in the form of--"

And of course that would have been the moment when Nathan Petrelli came into the room without bothering to knock first. Like a guilty teenager caught snogging on the couch, Peter sprang away from Claude, who barely had time to register what was happening before the door was closed as abruptly as it had been opened, this time with an alarmed-looking Nathan standing on their side of it.

"Jesus Christ!" Nathan hissed at Peter. "Where the hell did he come from?"

Claude rocked on his heels. "What're you on about? I've been here the whole time," he said. "Hadn't you noticed?"

Nathan glared. Peter rolled his eyes. "Claude just got here," he said.

"Should I even ask how you got in here without anyone noticing?" Nathan asked, pinching the bridge of his nose like someone on the verge of a migraine. "Please tell me you climbed the trellis or something."

"Never been one for climbing trellises, me," Claude replied. "But don't worry. I won't tell any potential assassins how easily I got in here. Or that there's a handy trellis for them to climb if they ever need a way to get into the house unnoticed." A beat passed. "You're an incredibly easy man to stalk, by the way. You might want to look into that. Especially if you're still planning on being president someday."

"I don't have time for this," Nathan said.

But Claude was warming to his subject now. "After all, how could I in good conscience vote for someone who has such an obvious disregard for his own personal safety?"

"Can you even vote?" Peter asked. "I thought you weren't a citizen."

Claude lifted his shoulders mysteriously.

"Look," Nathan said, cutting in. "I just came in here to say I'm going to the airport to pick Claire up now. I thought you might want to come with me." He gave Peter a pointed look.

"You mean you're afraid to go by yourself," Peter said knowingly.

"Let me put it this way," Nathan said, stepping closer to his brother. "Either you come with me to get Claire now or you come with me to the train station to pick Mom up tomorrow." He spread his hands. "Take your pick."

"Wow, you're really desperate to have me go with you to get Claire," Peter said.

Nathan frowned, throwing Claude an inexplicable look before admitting with difficulty, "Claire likes you."

"Claire likes _you_," Peter replied.

"She likes me over the phone," Nathan said. "In person, she jumps out windows to get away from me."

"Yeah, well, who wouldn't?" Claude said.

Nathan went on as if Claude hadn't spoken. "Besides, a big reason she came here in the first place was because she wanted to see you again," he said. "She's still adjusting to the fact that you're not going to remember her. Having you there at the airport might help her digest that before she has to deal with meeting Heidi and the boys. I'm just afraid she's going to be overwhelmed if we throw all of that at her at once."

Peter hesitated, clearly on the verge of cracking.

"He'll do it," Claude said.

For a minute, Peter looked affronted that Claude had spoken for him. "Fine, I'll go," he said. "But only if Claude comes with us."

Nathan pressed his lips together, clearly considering. Now Claude knew what Peter meant by how desperate Nathan must have been not to do this alone. "All right, but only because I have no idea how to explain to Heidi that an invisible man snuck into our house while she wasn't looking," he said. "We'll say he just got here and that we picked up him up on our way to meet Claire."

"Deal," Peter said.

"Don't I get a say in this?" Claude wondered aloud.

"No," Peter replied before Nathan could say anything, already moving toward the door. Apparently Claude was being punished for his earlier presumptuousness.

"Fine," Claude said, going invisible as they made their way down the stairs. "But I'm not showing myself until Bennet's gone. I'm not dealing with him until I absolutely have to, right?"


	4. Chapter 4

**All the People We Used to Know  
****Part 4/12**

The last time Claude had seen Claire in person, she'd been a very little girl at her own birthday party. Grown from the squirming bundle of a thing that had stared up at Bennet with those wide, worried eyes the day she'd been handed over into his care, she'd nevertheless born an unfortunate resemblance to Sandra's collection of show dogs--all bows and big hair and overdone little outfits. Back then, Claude had seen in her future a merrily rebellious teenager who would no doubt do everything in her power to make her parents' lives a living hell as payback for having humiliated her so thoroughly as a child.

Apparently Claire didn't have the imagination necessary for such spectacular vengeance. Shame, that. No doubt Bennet was the kind of overbearing father who not only warned against eating too many sweets but also insisted on a thorough screening process for any boy who so much as entertained an impure thought about his precious daughter. That kind of parent deserved trouble. What Bennet had gotten instead was a girl loyal enough to him that even the things that had happened over the past year weren't enough to completely obliterate their relationship. In its own way, that wasn't unimpressive.

"A little late, aren't you?" Bennet said, his tone a light admonishment as Nathan and Peter approached him. "We've been waiting half an hour."

"God, Dad, give them a break, will you?" Claire mumbled from beside her father.

Nathan smiled tightly. "Sorry to keep you waiting," he said. He cleared his throat when no one said anything. "How was your trip?"

"It was fine," Bennet replied shortly. "Peter," he added, as if noticing the other man standing there for the first time. "I didn't expect you to be here. It's good to see you again."

He proffered a hand to Peter, who shook it awkwardly. After the horror stories Claude had told him, it was no wonder the boy hadn't expected to be on such friendly terms with Claire's father. Claude was a bit taken aback himself. He'd known Bennet and his daughter had both been in Kirby Plaza the night of the bomb but he hadn't bothered to consider the possibility that Peter might have managed to make friends with Bennet at some point between the tranquilizer gun incident and that.

"You look well," Bennet added and then laughed self-consciously at his own talent for understatement. For someone Bennet had last seen being blown into nuclear oblivion, Peter would have looked well if he'd been nothing more than chunks of rotting flesh collected in a plastic bag, vaguely recognizable as his old self. Looking as he did now, a more accurate description might have been "miraculously restored." But then, Bennet was used to being around Claire, so maybe the novelty had worn off for him.

"Well, I should be going," Bennet said finally. "I'll be in New York until the day after tomorrow, if everything goes well." Meaning if Claire didn't send up the distress signal any sooner than that.

"I guess we'll see you then," Nathan said.

"Bye, Dad," Claire said, offering Bennet a prolonged hug before allowing him to walk away, shoulders stoically squared like the possessive parent leaving his child behind in the hands of strangers for the first time. She watched him until he disappeared into the crowd and then she turned to Nathan and Peter, her face scrunched into an expression of apology. "Sorry about that. I guess he's still being kind of weird about this whole thing."

"No, don't worry about it," Nathan said. "We're just happy you got here safely. Right, Pete?"

It wasn't a serious question. It wasn't like Nathan expected his brother to imply he'd been hoping Claire's plane had crashed en route to Washington by disagreeing with him. Though Claude had to admit the scenario wasn't without appeal, given Claire's own ability for miraculous recovery from dire situations and the fact that Bennet would most likely have burned up in the wreckage. But Nathan was obviously desperate to deflect some of the awkwardness of the situation at hand onto his brother, who still hadn't quite recovered from the lack of maliciousness with which Bennet had greeted him.

"Uh, yeah," Peter said. He cleared his throat. "You're always hearing stories about airlines canceling flights at the last minute lately. People getting stuck in airports."

"And the weather," Nathan added. "This time of year…with the snow.'

Claire's shapely eyebrows reached for her hairline. "Um, yeah," she said, probably wondering if the particular brand of lameness she was currently witnessing in her biological family members was contagious or, worse, genetic.

"Are those your bags?" Peter said, already reaching for the luggage at Claire's side.

"Yeah, thanks," she said as they began walking along. She pushed back her hair as she peered curiously up at Peter, who shyly avoided her gaze. "You really don't remember me, do you?" she asked as they navigated the crowd of people. "Nathan told me what happened. Well, he told me about the thing with your memory. But I guess I didn't believe you actually forgot about me until..." Until she'd seen the blank stare with which Peter had greeted her. Claude knew that feeling well.

"Sorry," Peter said. "I mean, I've seen the paintings. The ones that Isaac Mendez did. But I don't remember any of it."

"Save the cheerleader, save the world, right?" she said with a smile that was maybe a little too expectant. Maybe Nathan had explained to her the part about Peter not knowing who she was, but it seemed he'd left out the fact that no amount of prompting would bring those memories back.

"Right," Peter said with a crooked smile of acknowledgement.

No one spoke again until they reached the parking garage where Nathan had left the car. Locating the vehicle more easily than Claude would have given him credit for back when they'd first parked it, Nathan busied himself putting Claire's luggage in the boot while Peter bit his lip. They'd agreed ahead of time that this was where Claude would make his grand entrance stage left, but they hadn't exactly gotten around to planning out a script to follow. In the car, Peter had jokingly suggested they introduce Claude as a "special friend" and leave it at that but the very idea had Nathan going tight-lipped and pale. Claude hadn't been much better. Six months in and he and Peter had never gotten around to labeling their relationship, but if they did ever end up choosing a classification, Claude liked to think that wouldn't be it.

While Peter searched for words, Claire's gaze roamed the dimly lit garage. "We're being watched, aren't we?" she said in a hushed undertone. "I keep getting this creepy crawly feeling up the back of my neck. Is that crazy?"

Peter glanced at Nathan, who looked mildly impressed with Claire's observation skills.

"Sorry," she said, seeing the exchange and misinterpreting the meaning behind it. "I don't mean to be paranoid. I guess living in hiding is kind of…and you know, of course people are watching us. You probably have a security team or something, right?"

Claude snorted at this.

Claire's eyes widened. "Okay, did I just--"

"Yeah," Peter said. "Uh, it's okay, but we should probably get in the car first."

Even if Claude hadn't known about the jumping out the window bit Claire had pulled the year before, the apprehensive look on her face when Peter said this would have told him everything he needed to know about her previous relationship with her biological family. She was the one who'd reinstated contact with those who shared her gene pool, true. And if she wasn't the one who'd outright suggested this family get-together, it appeared she probably hadn't protested the idea in any meaningful way. But none of that meant that she trusted any of them quite yet. Not even Peter, who could just as easily be brain-washed as amnesiac.

Still, she got in the car. Peter slipped into the passenger seat at the front. Claire got in back on the driver's side. Shedding his invisibility outside the vehicle, Claude got in beside Claire, who jumped half a mile before he'd so much as closed the door.

"What the h--" Claire began, instinctively reaching for the latch on her door but not getting out. "Who the hell are you?"

"This is Claude," Peter said , twisting in his seat so that he better faced the both of them.

"Didn't anybody tell you that you had a long-lost deranged uncle type who can turn invisible?" Claude said. He affected a wounded expression. "I'm not surprised. They don't like to talk about me."

"You…You were invisible?" Claire asked and he was vaguely amazed that, out of everything he'd just said, this was what she chose to focus on. "Peter can turn invisible." She glanced at Peter, who nodded. "He turned me invisible once in Kirby Plaza. Before the bomb. Sylar was there and we needed to get away."

Peter raised his eyebrows wordlessly at Claude. No wonder the boy was in such good graces with Bennet. He'd protected the man's little girl from Sylar.

"Got that from me," Claude said, filling in the spaces of her thought process.

"Really?" Claire said. "Because when he did it…it was really cool."

"Yeah, well, I'm actually good at it, so when I do it, it's even more cool," Claude said. "Years of practice, you know."

Claire smiled weakly. "I'm not really related to you, am I?"

"Claude's my friend," Peter put in before Claude could respond.

"Actually, I'm his Yoda," Claude corrected. "But taller and with less impenetrable syntax."

"Good to know," Claire said, putting on her seatbelt as the car started moving. No one had noticed Nathan get behind the wheel. Claude thought he probably wanted it that way--whatever helped him avoid actually talking to his daughter. "Why were you hiding before?"

"Didn't want to take attention away from the happy family reunion," Claude said, which was basically true. "Had no idea how painfully awkward the whole thing was going to be, else I might have livened it up a bit. Given the security cameras a show. See how closely they really watch those things."

"Yeah, I'm sure turning invisible is a big red flag on the potential terrorist checklist," Claire said.

"Not to mention magazine stands that are suddenly missing merchandise and people finding out their passports have been stolen or switched with someone else's when they weren't looking," Peter commented from the front.

"Are you casting aspersions on my character again?" Claude asked, pretending to be affronted.

"At least I'm not calling you a pervert anymore," Peter replied cheekily.

"Oh, aye, well, hardly have use for naked people in locker rooms, do I? Not when I have y--"

"So, Claire, your dad mentioned something about a new boyfriend?" Nathan said, cutting in for the first time. Claude wondered when Nathan and Bennet had had time to gossip about Claire's love life behind her back.

"He's not my boyfriend," Claire said, cheeks reddening in a way that suggested if he wasn't her boyfriend, she probably wanted him to be. "I just like him. He…understands. About people like us. You know?"

"He has a power?" Peter asked, managing to pick up on the very thing she was trying not to say.

"Yeah," Claire said. She cleared her throat. "He, uh, flies."

Claude choked at that. Technically, there didn't have to be a genetic connection between Claire's boyfriend and Nathan for them both to be able to fly but Claude still felt there was something vaguely incestuous about the idea just the same.

"He took me to the top of the Hollywood sign once," she added. "We just sat there, looking out at the city. It was really cool."

"Aww," Claude said. He leaned forward, flicking the back of Peter's head. "Why don't you ever do anything romantic like that?" He was careful to chop off the "with me" he'd intended to include at the end of that jibe, remembering that Peter had chosen the sexually neutral word "friend" to describe their relationship to Claire.

"I seem to remember you telling me a story about how I carried your unconscious ass halfway across the city once after--" It was Peter's turn to cut himself off. "When those guys came after us with the tranquilizer guns."

Claude wondered why it was he hadn't thought to edit that story in the retelling. It wasn't like Peter would know the difference if Claude had spared his pride and left out the part about him having to be carried away from the scene like some damsel in distress, fainting at the crucial moment.

But Peter had asked him for the story in a weak moment early in their relationship, when they'd still been recovering from the lies Claude had told back when he'd been under orders to pretend he'd played no role in that missing piece of Peter's memory. In asking for the truth, Peter had in particular wanted to know more about what their relationship had been like the first time around--up to and including the night Claude had abandoned him. So they'd spent a night lying in bed together while Claude described it all to him, including a somewhat abridged version of his history with the Company. It had all ended with Peter giving him a thoughtful look in the gray morning light and saying, "You never told me any of that before, did you? When we first knew each other."

"Not really," Claude had admitted. "Never got the chance." Not that he would have said anything even if he had. While he could imagine his and Peter's relationship eventually progressing to a sexual level if they hadn't parted ways so abruptly that first time, Claude didn't believe for a second that it would have been anything like it was now. Back then, they'd both lacked the social skills necessary to create anything that might have meant something--Peter because he was far too naïve about how the world worked and how people worked, Claude because he was far too jaded about those same subjects. The sex might have been good--at least as good as it was now--but that was all it would have been. That was all either of them would have wanted. Not exactly the type of situation where a person felt free to open up about painful subjects.

Why it was different now, Claude couldn't have said without admitting to himself how hopelessly sentimental the boy had made him. Peter had got in under the wire somehow and if Claude ignored the fact that Peter's family was removed from that more difficult part of his past by less than the standard six degrees that represented his usual comfort zone with these things, it was only because he'd never imagined that one day he'd be sitting in the seat next to his enemy's daughter without a knife in his hand and a ransom note in the post.

"Listen, we're almost there," Nathan said as if cutting into a conversation that had actually come to a screeching halt about five miles back.

"You sound nervous," Claire said, not sounding much better herself.

"I am, but not so much about you," Nathan replied. "Heidi's excited to meet you. So are the boys."

"It's me he's worried about," Claude said, nudging Claire with his elbow. "Bit of a party crasher, me."

"Really?" Claire said, her nervousness turning to amusement. She didn't say so but he could tell she was thinking it was no mystery why Nathan would be nervous about introducing someone like Claude to his wife and kids. To the untrained eye, Claude had a tendency to appear as some kind of psychotic homeless person, especially next to the clean-shaven, well-dressed Petrelli men. Peter had slowly been trying to integrate newer, better-fitting clothes of non-rubbish bin origins into Claude's wardrobe for some time now and usually Claude humored him well enough. But he'd just come off sitting on a train for hours on end and he'd been thinking more about his comfort than his appearance.

"Just…if Heidi asks, say we made a side trip to pick Claude up on the way," Nathan said.

"It's easier than explaining how I snuck into the house this morning when no one could see me and hid in Peter's room," Claude added.

"That's so cool," Claire said. "I wish I could turn invisible." She turned her face away, looking out the window instead of at Claude and he could guess that the comment had come out more morose than she'd meant it to.

"Yeah, well, who doesn't?" Claude said. "Might make it easier to sneak out and see your boyfriend when your dad's not looking."

"Or hide if I'm having a really bad day and don't want to talk to anybody," Claire added.

"Or sneak into the shower rooms and look at all the naked people like Peter does."

"Hey!" Peter said.

But Claire was laughing, distracted enough by the levity that she didn't notice they'd pulled up in front of the Petrelli house until the car was already parked in the drive. Peter and Nathan were already moving, Nathan circling around back of the car to open Claire's door for her while Peter moved to get the girl's bags out of the boot. Left alone for that quick moment, Claude turned to Claire.

"Here goes nothing," he said.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**All the People We Used to Know****  
Part 5/12**

Claude had no way of knowing if Nathan had been telling the truth when he'd reassured Claire that Heidi was looking forward to meeting her, but in either case, the woman put on a good show. She greeted Claire with polite warmth, managing to introduce her sons to their half-sister without seeming to mark the line between Claire and the rest of the family in any discernible way. Over dinner, the two made predictable small talk about boys and school, to which Claire responded courteously enough. She even directed a few somewhat rehearsed-sounding questions back at Heidi, apparently having studied up on her charity work and political ambitions before arriving in Washington. Clearly, the two were not ready to gossip about the latest celebrity scandal over Starbucks, but there were no fireworks or histrionics to speak of and while the uneasy way in which Claire and Heidi got to know each other was entertaining enough in its own right, Claude couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed. And apparently it showed on his face.

"I'm sorry, Claude, you must feel like we've been ignoring you all night," Heidi said.

Claude shifted in his chair like a schoolboy being called out by the teacher for not paying attention to his lesson.

"Not at all," he replied, setting his fork down guiltily. He'd been using it to poke curiously at the food on his plate, which he had yet to identify in any meaningful way other than the fact that it may have been alive at one time or another. For the life of him, he'd never understand rich people's taste in food and would have thought in welcoming Claire, the Petrellis would have chosen to serve something comforting and familiar to make her feel at home rather than alienating her with…whatever this was supposed to be. He'd tried everything he could think of to figure it out short of simply passing a note to Peter under the table, which he would have done if he'd only had a pen to write it with. "Content to blend into the background, me."

Peter snorted indelicately.

Ignoring her brother-in-law, Heidi continued to address Claude. "Tell us about yourself," she said like this was some sort of support group and Claude was the new member. "What do you do for a living?"

Nathan's fork froze halfway to his mouth. Peter kicked his brother under the table and Claude couldn't help but wonder what stray thought had earned Nathan that.

"Used to work for a paper company based in Texas," Claude said. "Primatech. Traveling salesman, that sort of thing. Not very interesting."

He didn't realize his mistake until Claire looked up from her plate, eyes wide.

"Primatech?" she repeated, voice hollow.

But Heidi was already talking again. "It must have been a good business, though," she said. "I mean, people will always need paper, right? At least until the digital age takes over completely and everything's on a computer screen."

Claude smiled weakly. "Right," he said.

"I saw online the other day that they're starting to sell books on these devices that are like mp3 players," she went on, either oblivious to the tension in the room or purposefully ignoring it. "I don't know how I feel about that. I always like the weight of a book in my hand and seeing it there on the shelf. It just wouldn't be the same on a little screen like that."

"Reckon it wouldn't," Claude said.

Back when he'd been in training, the Company had made sure Claude knew enough about the paper business not to blow his cover if he was ever asked to blather on about the pros and cons of, for example, recycled paper versus non-recycled paper. They'd given him different sales pitches to memorize and brochures to carry around in a briefcase next to the stash of extra bullets for his gun. He could sound like a native if he tried, even years later. But for the life of him he couldn't remember a single one of his usual facts and statistics. Not with Claire sitting across from him, staring at him like he'd killed her puppy.

Seeing Claire's look, Peter was quick to make a point of saying, "Claude's not with Primatech anymore. He left a while back to do…other stuff."

"Oh?" Heidi said.

"Yeah, I didn't really see much of a future for myself there, so we parted ways in the end," Claude said. "These days I mostly just live off Peter and his trust fund. The lazy roommate that never gets a job or goes away."

Nathan grunted at this, but said nothing.

"How did the two of you meet?" Heidi asked.

Claude began to wonder if it was only well-learned manners that led Heidi to pursue this seemingly inane line of questions or if she was deliberately trying to corner them all into admitting something more was going on than what they were telling her.

"We met through Mohinder Suresh, the geneticist I was staying with for a while," Peter said. "Back then, Mohinder was following up on some research his dad left behind when he died. Claude found out about it and he offered himself up as a test subject."

"Supposedly there was money involved, but I haven't seen a dime of it," Claude said.

"I remember the psychology department used to do things like that when I was in college," Heidi said. "They'd post flyers all around campus looking to recruit people for their projects." She took a sip of wine. "Was it like that?"

"Kind of," Peter said. "Anyway, Claude was around a lot and we just kind of started hanging out. After a while, I started to think it was time I stopped imposing on Mohinder so I decided to move back to my old place. But I knew I couldn't live there by myself and Claude didn't really have anywhere else to stay, so I invited him to be my roommate and he agreed."

Claude had to hand it to the boy--he'd become particularly skilled in the art of lying by omission. Everything he'd said was the truth, more or less, but without the more troublesome bits like what exactly Claude had to do with Suresh's research and the real incentive behind their decision to live together. Heidi had the option of reading between the lines but in the end, Peter had admitted nothing.

"That apartment is awfully small for two people, isn't it?" Heidi said. "It seemed like it was barely big enough for you when you were living there alone."

"We do okay," Peter said.

"It's all in how the furniture's arranged," Claude added.

Heidi looked unconvinced but she nodded anyway and they finished dinner in a skeptical silence. As soon as they were excused, the boys ran off to watch more of that shrill cartoon while the adults stood around uncomfortably, wondering what came next.

"Does anyone want coffee?" Heidi asked.

Claude opened his mouth to answer but was cut off by a distinct buzzing sound coming from Peter's back pocket. Resisting the urge to make a lewd joke, he watched as Peter took out his ringing mobile, throwing an apologetic look at their hosts as he did so.

"It's Matt," he explained before flipping the phone open.

Heidi and Nathan exchanged an unreadable look before leaving the room. Claire began to follow but settled instead for hovering in the doorway, looking uncertain as she and Claude watched Peter answer Parkman's call.

"Hey, Matt, what's up?" Peter said. "Yeah, Claude got here all right." He glanced at Claude. "No, everything's fine. I just got kind of overwhelmed, I guess. I didn't mean to scare everybody. What about you? Is everything okay over there?" He smiled. "She did? Well, tell her I said good job." Another boring story about Molly's triumphant adventures in school, no doubt. Then Peter's smile faded and he gave Claude a quizzical look. "Yeah, he's standing right here." A pause. "You want to talk to him?" This said with genuine surprise. "Okay. Just a second." He held the phone out to Claude. "It's Matt. He wants to talk to you."

"Seeking relationship advice, no doubt," Claude said, taking the phone. "I already told him carriage rides in the park were out this year."

"No, I think they're back in," Peter commented before moving away. Claude watched as Claire emerged from the shadows in which she'd been lurking, a look of intense worry on her face.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" she asked.

"Sure," Peter said. "Let's go outside."

Claude watched after them as they went, knowing as well as Peter must have the nature of what it was Claire wanted to talk to him about. Unable to imagine how that particular conversation was going to play itself out, Claude instead occupied himself with Parkman, who still waited on the other end of the line.

"Has anyone taken the time to tell you lately just how sorely you lack subtlety?" he asked.

"This coming from the guy who can't talk about at trip to the market without making a sex joke," Parkman retorted.

Claude conceded the point with silence.

"So," Parkman said after a minute and Claude could tell he was wearing a shit-eating grin, "how are things with the in-laws?"

"Hang on, I want to put you on speakerphone so Nathan Petrelli can hear you say that," Claude said. "Maybe I can even find a way to record it so Angela Petrelli can have a listen when she gets here."

"That woman scares me," Parkman said.

"Rightly so," Claude said. "Why are you calling me?"

"I think Bennet's here," Parkman said. "Well, not in the apartment obviously but here in the city. Mohinder was gone for most of the day but when he came back he was really…weird."

"So, what's the verdict? Is the good doctor cheating on you or what?"

"Give it a rest," Parkman said. "I still can't tell what's going on but from what little I could pick up, I keep hearing the names 'Bob' and 'Isaac Mendez.' Does that mean anything to you?"

Claude swallowed around the bile that stung the back of his throat.

"Isaac Mendez was that painter that could see the future," he said. "Sylar murdered him last year. Peter's got his old loft." Though, as far as Claude could tell, the boy used it more for solitary brooding purposes than for creating prescient works of art. Which, as far as Claude was concerned, was just fine.

"And Bob?" Parkman prompted.

"Common enough name, isn't it?" Claude replied.

"But it means something to you."

Claude sighed, wondering if mind reading abilities worked over phone lines. "Bob was a name that got thrown around a lot when I was working for the Company," he said. "He was one of the twelve founders. Legend had it there was a schism back in the day and he ended up on the wrong side of it."

"But he's still involved with the Company?"

"Imagine so," Claude said. "He's where they get most of the money for their 'research' and such. Among other things."

"Well, if he's involved in funding research, that explains why he might be interested in Mohinder," Parkman said. "But it seems like Mohinder is purposely trying to attract this guy's attention. Why would he do that?"

Claude hesitated as an unpleasant idea slowly began to form in his mind. "Only thing I can think of is Bennet wants Suresh in good graces with the Company so he can have a man on the inside. A mole or whatever."

"A mole?" Parkman repeated. "What for?" A pause as it sunk in. "They're trying to take down the Company. Aren't they?"

Claude walked to the window. Out it, he could see Peter and Claire pacing the perimeter of the garden. Peter was doing most of the talking but if Claire was listening, it was with reluctance and the kind of deep frown people usually wore only when they didn't like what they were hearing. Claude had little doubt she felt betrayed, like they'd all conspired to lead her into some kind of trap.

"I'd like to think nobody would be that stupid," Claude said finally. "But try as he might to hide her, Bennet can't make Claire completely safe until the Company is gone for good. And Suresh has always hated them, especially after what they did to Molly. Two father figures willing to go to great lengths to protect their adopted kids. Match made in heaven, that."

There was a pause over the line. "Where does Isaac Mendez fit into all of this?" Parkman asked. "I mean, I know the guy could predict the future, but he's dead. It doesn't seem like that's something that will do us much good now."

"Not unless he happened to predict some way of bringing about the Company's downfall before Sylar got to him," Claude said. "Seems a bit convenient." He sighed. "Mind, this is all just speculation. I'll have a better idea what's going on once I've managed to corner Bennet. Meanwhile, you keep cornering Suresh. See what you can get out of him."

"Yeah, that might be a little easier said than done," Parkman said. "Mohinder fed me some story today about this lecture thing he was asked to do at the last minute. It's out of the country and he'll be gone for at least a couple of days."

"How out of the country?"

"Let's just say I doubt he meant Canada," Parkman said.

"And you can't figure out where it is he's actually going?"

"No, he blocked that out."

"Bastard," Claude said. "Well, Bennet's not scheduled to be back here again until day after tomorrow, so it's probably going to take some time to find out what that's about."

"I could…ask Molly to pinpoint his location after he's gone," Parkman said. "But that would clue her in that something's going on."

"Not wise," Claude said.

"You could ask Peter to do it."

"But that would clue him in that something's going on," Claude said.

"You haven't told him?"

"Of course I haven't told him. The boy can't keep a secret to save his life," Claude said. "He'd give it all away as soon as Bennet walked through the door."

"I see," Parkman said.

"Then again, your ringing him on his mobile and asking to talk to me will most likely raise a few unwanted questions," Claude said. "Thanks for that, by the way."

"What was I supposed to do? You don't have a cell phone and I don't have the number for the house," Parkman said. He sighed. "So for now we just…bide our time?"

"Looks like it," Claude said. "I'll do what I can to survive this precious family reunion. You…do whatever it is you do when others aren't around. Dust the furniture in pearls and high heels or whatever."

"I'm just…You know? Never mind. I'll call you if anything comes up."

"Yeah, yeah," Claude said and rang off.

He checked the window again to find Claire and Peter had stopped walking. They were standing now on the far edge of the garden where it appeared Claire was taking her turn talking. Her back was turned to Claude, so he couldn't tell what it was she was saying, but she was gesturing quite animatedly as she said it. Probably not a good sign.

"What was that about?"

Claude was careful not to startle at the question, wondering to himself at what point Nathan Petrelli had managed to sneak into the room without his noticing.

"Think Peter might be explaining the birds and the bees to her," Claude said without turning as Nathan came up next to him.

"I meant the urgent phone call," Nathan said. "What's going on?"

"Parkman couldn't decide which shade of lipstick went best with the new dress he bought today," Claude replied. "He wants to surprise Suresh later."

Nathan made a face. "Parkman's the mind-reader, right?"

"That's him."

"I didn't realize he and Dr. Suresh were…together."

"Frankly, I don't think they realize it either," Claude said. "Being the resolutely heterosexual men that they are, of course."

"I don't know Parkman, but I wouldn't exactly call Suresh 'resolutely heterosexual,'" Nathan commented. "When I first agreed to let Peter live with him, I thought it was only a matter of time before those two ended up in bed together."

"And instead you got me and the idea of Suresh and Peter didn't seem so bad anymore did it?" Claude said wryly.

Nathan shifted, looking down at his feet. "Look," he said. "Peter's not a girl and I'm not his dad, so I'm not going to bother asking you if your intentions with him are honorable or anything like that. But understand this." He turned toward Claude now, brows drawn into a single, thunderous line. "It's been a year since the bomb in New York and for the first time it seems like he's starting to move on. So if you're leading him down that road again--the one where he thinks he's being a hero and he's really just being an idiot--then…" He let the words trail off ominously.

Claude considered his answer. "The jury's still out on whether or not Peter's a girl," he said. "But one thing he's definitely not is a child. Just so you know."

Nathan continued to scowl at him, unmoved.

"I don't know for sure that anything's going on," Claude admitted, knowing it would be useless to do otherwise. "And if there is, I can't guarantee that Peter won't find out about it. He reads minds now, you know." He shifted. "What I can promise you, if anything, is that of the two of us here, you're not the only one who doesn't want to see Peter get hurt. I'll do anything I can to make sure that doesn't happen."

Nathan nodded, accepting this more easily than Claude would have thought. He turned back toward the window, looking out at the garden where Peter and Claire were still talking. "So what _is _that about?" he asked.

"Bit of a slip-up I made at dinner," Claude said.

"I'm pretty sure Claire's figured out that you and Peter are more than just friends, if that's what you're worried about," Nathan said.

"Aye, Claire's a smart girl," Claude said. "But I was thinking more along the lines of the allusion I may have made to my past affiliation with a certain paper company. You know, the one that may or may not have been a front for the same shady organization her own father was associated with up until recently."

Nathan closed his eyes. "Christ, please tell me you're not talking about _the_ Company."

"Primatech Paper," Claude said with a grim nod.

"I was hoping that was all bullshit," Nathan said. "Now Claire's going to think I'm trying to lure her into some kind of ambush."

"And then Bennet will have you killed," Claude said. "But don't worry, I think Peter's sticking up for you out there."

"Peter would stick up for me if I had my finger on the button to start World War III," Nathan said.

"True," Claude replied.

A pause passed between them.

"Anyway, Heidi had a room made up for you," Nathan said. "Could you at least go in there and mess up the sheets a little so I don't have to think about you and my brother in his room doing…whatever."

"Yeah, all right," Claude said. "Oh, and by the way, you know the labels on the drawers are unnecessary, don't you?"

Nathan raised an eyebrow. "Peter hung a picture of some cartoon character on his door when he got here so he would be able to remember which one was his," Nathan said. "I'm willing to admit the labels were overboard, but I'm not convinced they were unnecessary."

"What about the book of crossword puzzles?" Claude asked.

"That was a joke."

"Oh," Claude said. One side of his mouth twitched but he refused to smile as he saw the subtle genius of that.

"Apparently not a very good one," Nathan added. "Look, I spent a lot of time believing Peter's memory problems would eventually go away. That whatever the Haitian had done to him would heal and that someday he'd be able to find his own door without a detailed map and a flashing neon sign. So I didn't do a whole lot to accommodate his…handicap in any meaningful ways. I thought he could learn to do it for himself."

"Now you've accepted that he won't get better and you're overcompensating for your prior insensitivity," Claude surmised, "thus making yourself seem even more insensitive."

"Essentially," Nathan admitted grudgingly.

A few beats passed.

"He doesn't get lost anymore," Claude said. "Well, not as much. He has Molly's ability now so if he's on his way somewhere and forgets where he's going, he just thinks of the person he's looking for and he finds his way easily enough."

"I didn't know that," Nathan said.

"He still forgets names from time to time, but he's gotten quite sneaky about pulling them from people's minds when he needs to," Claude said. "Not that people often think of themselves in the third person, but somehow he finds what he's looking for by listening to what you're thinking." He looked down at his hands. "Still has trouble keeping track of plots in movies and books but he takes a lot of notes. I'm always find them all over the flat. No idea how he keeps track of them all, but he seems to manage all right."

Nathan eyed him. "What are you saying, Claude?"

"The moral of the story is that he _is _getting better, in a manner of speaking," Claude said. "But you're probably right not to let him baby-sit your children on his own. Just don't ever tell him I said that."

"I won't," Nathan said.

Claude nodded. "Good," he said. "So, what time does your mother get in tomorrow?"

"Mid-morning."

"I better go prepare myself, then."

"That's probably a good idea."


	6. Chapter 6

**All the People We Used to Know  
Part 6/12**

The next morning, Claude could tell something was off before he'd even opened his eyes. He could feel the weight of Peter's gaze on him and knew from the tension in the room that this was more than a simple reenactment of a scene from one of those soppy romantic comedies--the ones where characters adoringly admired the sleeping form of their lovers in the rosy light of dawn. Or whatever.

He could guess well enough what the problem was. After all, he'd known using sex as a way of distracting Peter from his inevitable questions about Claude's phone conversation with Parkman the night before was at best a temporary fix. Still, he'd expected it to buy him just a bit more time than this despite Peter's initial protests--all of which had mainly to do with their being guests in someone else's house and the possibility of Claire being able to hear them from her room across the hall. These Claude had simply taken as incentive to make sure they were all the louder, targeting Peter's most sensitive spots so that he ended up crying out in such an entirely undignified manner that he saw fit to wage a kind of counter-attack against Claude. The assault had been carried off with such tactical accuracy that Claude knew Peter had been inside his mind, using Claude's own thoughts against him. And pleasurable though the results may have been, Claude began to realize that this was his mistake.

Cracking his eyes open, he found that Peter was facing him on the other side of the bed, about a foot of space between them and the sheets pulled up to protect his modesty more closely than when they were at home. Sighing, Claude said, "All right, let's have it then. How much trouble am I in?"

"I haven't decided yet," Peter said, his tone such that Claude knew this wasn't the beginning of some naughty playacting thing. Peter had known exactly what he meant and for once wasn't pretending otherwise. "Why didn't you tell me something was going on with Claire's dad? And that Mohinder was involved?"

Claude paused, thinking it over a minute. "Save the cheerleader, save the world," he said finally.

"What?"

"Save the cheerleader, save the world," Claude repeated more clearly. "Hiro Nakamura told you that on a subway once, do you remember the story? He traveled five years into the past--our present--and stopped time so he could give you that message."

"I know," Peter said. "Mohinder was there. He told me. But what does it have to do with what's going on now?"

"What _might_ be going on," Claude corrected. "Nobody knows anything for sure yet except Suresh and Bennet and neither of them is saying a word."

Peter's brow furrowed. "Answer the question," he said.

Claude sighed. "You know, I resent the fact that you used sex as a diversion so you could break into my thoughts and steal information," he said. "Don't think I don't know that's exactly what you did."

"Me?" Peter said a little incredulously. "You're the one who was all over me as soon as I got in here last night. I can't help what I overheard." He frowned. "Tell me what 'save the cheerleader, save the world' has to do with anything."

Claude reached over, tucking a strand of Peter's hair behind his ear. Peter tolerated the tender gesture with an impatiently raised eyebrow. "You know what it means," Claude said.

Peter shifted, looking away. "It means you think I have a tendency to rush into dangerous situations without getting all the information first," Peter said, not without bitterness.

Claude acknowledged the truth with silence.

Peter sighed, discontent. He rolled away from Claude, swinging his legs over the side of the bed so that all Claude could see was the narrow expanse of his back. Claude watched as the boy reached for a pair of trousers that had been discarded on the floor the night before, pulling them on with a lift of his hips.

"Wait, when did you stop wearing underwear?" Claude couldn't help but wonder aloud. "And how is it that I didn't notice until now?"

Peter didn't bother to dignify the question with an answer. Instead, he said, "Last night when Claire asked to talk to me in private, she was really panicked. She thought that you were some agent sent by the Company to insinuate yourself into my life and then either kill me or capture me."

"Sounds familiar," Claude said, remembering Peter's reaction six months ago upon discovering that Claude was not quite the stranger he'd pretended to be at the beginning. "Exactly how much of the truth did you give her?"

"I told her that what you'd said at the table was true. That you left Primatech a long time ago when the Company started going in a direction you didn't agree with," Peter said.

"Didn't exactly let me walk out the front door after handing in my resignation letter, did they?" Claude said. "What did you tell her about me and Bennet?"

"She asked if you two knew each other back then," Peter said. "I told her that you were partners. I didn't actually come out and say that he tried to kill you but I think she read between the lines a little. Or if she didn't, she'll figure it out when Bennet gets here."

"That's it?" Claude asked.

"Pretty much."

"You two were out there a long time," Claude pressed.

Peter turned his face away. "She said she thinks her dad is up to something," he said. "I guess he told her that this thing he had to do in New York was some conference for the office supply company he's working for now."

"Talk about related fields," Claude commented dryly.

"She doesn't believe him," Peter added. "She's scared." He turned his face so Claude could see his profile but he didn't try to meet Claude's gaze. "Should she be?"

_Yes. _The thought escaped Claude before he could stop it. The flicker in Peter's eyes told him he'd overheard without meaning to. Claude began to wonder if it was possible he'd liked Peter better back when he'd been without his powers.

"The good news is that whatever Bennet's doing, he's doing it to protect Claire and the rest of his family," Claude said. "The bad news is I've seen firsthand the lengths he's willing to go to in order to achieve that." Peter's eyes carefully avoided the scars on Claude's chest, focusing instead on a fixed point across the room. "Bennet would die for Claire if that was what it took to keep her safe."

"She knows that," Peter said. "That's why she's so scared."

"Yeah, well, Bennet can take care of himself. Frankly, I'm a bit more worried about Suresh," Claude said. At Peter's surprised look, Claude bristled. "The fact that I have no desire to see the man dead doesn't mean I'm out to buy matching friendship bracelets or anything, all right?"

"You think Bennet will get him killed?"

"I think Suresh is like Bennet in that he'll do anything to keep Molly safe," Claude said. "Bennet knows that. Most likely he'll use it in any way he can, make Suresh think they're a team when really Suresh is just a pawn. And we all know what happens to the pawn in the end."

Peter blew out a breath between his teeth, almost a growl. "Jesus," he said. "Do we know for sure that Mohinder's even involved?"

"Parkman says he's taking a mysterious and sudden trip out of the country, supposedly to fill in for some last minute lecture engagement," Claude said. "Sounds a bit like Bennet's office supply-related conference, don't you think?"

"Shit," Peter said, leaning forward and scrubbing his hands over his face. "You know, up until now, I've always had a hard time picturing you as some agent for this secret organization that goes after people like us."

"It's the idea of me willingly following some sort of dress code on a daily basis, isn't it?" Claude said.

"It's a lot of things," Peter said, moving his hands from his face and clasping them between his open knees. "You sound like him now, though. That person I think you used to be."

Claude shifted, but said nothing.

"You were good at your job, weren't you?"

"Better than I like to admit," Claude said seriously.

A pause passed between them. Before either had a chance to say anything else, a light knock sounded from the other side of the door. "Peter?" It was Nathan's voice.

"Yeah, Nate?" Peter called back.

Claude began quietly bouncing up and down on the bed so that the springs creaked in a suggestively rhythmic way. Peter reached back and hit him but his lips strained against a smile as the headboard began banging against the wall.

"Um, I'm going to pick up Mom now," Nathan replied. He cleared his throat. "You don't…have to go with me. I just thought I'd let you know so you have a chance to get ready. Take a shower or…whatever."

"The shower!" Claude said in a stage whisper. "We hadn't thought about the shower yet."

Peter ignored him. "Thanks, Nate," he said. "I'll be ready."

"Good," Nathan said.

At the sound of his receding steps, Claude stilled.

"I'm going to kill you," Peter said, but the grin on his face belied his words.

"I was serious about the shower thing," Claude said.

"You know the shower things never works," Peter said. "My elbow always gets in your face or you step on my foot…"

"That's the shower at home," Claude said. "The one that's small in order to accommodate the size of your shit hole flat."

"Our shit hole flat," Peter corrected.

"This one is in a nice, big house," Claude continued. "Room to move around in, if you know what I mean. Probably even a proper lock on the door, which is more than I can say for this particular venue."

Peter sighed, suddenly back to being serious. "You could have told me what was going on," he said. "It wouldn't have been like before."

Claude sat up, touching his lips to Peter's in a brief kiss. He stroked Peter's cheek with his thumb, quietly considering what Peter was saying. It was easy to assume Peter might have shed some of the blind puppy dog-like qualities that had characterized him just a year ago. There was little question he'd done some growing up since then, learned some hard lessons. But really this was the first potential crisis that had arisen in the six months since he'd gotten his powers back. Now, it seemed, was when they'd find out just how much of that misplaced superhero complex was really left in the boy. Now was the first test.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**All the People We Used to Know****  
Part 7/12**

"Then there was the movie theater," Nathan was saying into his third glass of Scotch, practically giggling at his own memories. "That was also off-limits with the nannies. They were always told: Peter can't behave himself at the movie theater, so don't even bother taking him there."

Claude didn't know whose idea it had been to fill the uncomfortable silences by telling embarrassing stories about Peter as a child, but he was beginning to think the amount of blackmail material he'd been able to gather in the past few hours alone was well worth being stuck in a room with the formidable Angela Petrelli.

"I don't remember that at all," Peter said, cheeks aflame with the combination of alcohol and embarrassment. And they hadn't even brought out the baby pictures yet.

"No, it's true," Angela Petrelli said, breaking into the conversation. "Something about the dark and the noise. You used to get anxious and start crying. It was embarrassing." She took a sip from her own nearly-empty wine glass. "Besides that, I didn't want your nannies taking you to see those awful Disney cartoons. If they took you out at all, I preferred that they brought you to the museum or the park. Somewhere educational."

"The museum?" Claire said from beside Claude. "It doesn't seem like a little kid would be any better behaved there than at the movie theater." Claire had managed to relax a bit since the initial terror of being reintroduced to her biological grandmother. But the hesitancy with which this observation was offered served to remind Claude once again that it wasn't just Nathan the girl had been trying to get away from when she'd jumped out that window a year ago in New York.

"No, Peter was fascinated by the museum," Angela replied. "He was in awe of it."

"Yes, Ma, we all know Pete was very cultured from a very young age," Nathan said, rolling his eyes.

"Well, he was," Angela said, reaching up to tuck a strand of Peter's hair behind his ear. A strangely affectionate gesture from a woman who made a block of ice look cuddly.

If meeting Angela Petrelli again wasn't as bad as Claude had originally envisioned, it wasn't at all because she was a less frightening person than he'd built her up to be in his mind. No, small as she was, she was still the most intimidating thing in the room. Or in a fifty mile radius, for that matter. But Peter's mother had been too wrapped up in making amends with her estranged granddaughter to pay Claude much mind when they'd been introduced upon her arrival. She'd raised an eyebrow sharply at him, shook his hand twice and moved on to better things. At the time, Claude had felt almost good about himself, like he'd passed some sort of test. This was before Peter informed him that she'd saved her criticism for a silent exchange of thoughts with her son. Claude had since learned that Angela Petrelli's hostility was a bit more passive aggressive than he'd anticipated. She wasn't clawing his eyes out with her nails or anything but she'd made damn sure the seating arrangement was such that Claude had been shoved into a corner as far away from her precious son as possible.

"What about Nathan?" Claire asked. "What was he like as a kid?"

"He was a holy terror," Angela replied. "And don't let him tell you otherwise."

"What are you talking about?" Nathan said, seeming genuinely bewildered. "I thought you always said I was the good one."

"Well, you didn't send yourself through glass doors thinking you were Superman the way Peter was known to do," Angela said pointedly. "But you had your share of trouble. You tested the patience of every teacher and every nanny you came into contact with. You were so aggressive. Thankfully, you learned to channel that aggression into more useful endeavors as you got older. Peter, on the other hand, never learned to stop throwing himself through glass doors."

For whatever reason, Angela looked at Claude as she said it. An uncomfortable silence fell over the room.

"Think it might be time to refresh my drink," Claude said, desperate to escape the weight of her gaze. "Anyone else need anything while I'm up?"

Everyone shook their heads and so Claude made his way into the kitchen where they'd left the open bottles of liquor earlier. Dumping the warmed contents of his glass down the drain, Claude took a moment to enjoy the solitude before he realized he wasn't alone.

"You don't seem like the type to be easily intimidated by other people," Angela Petrelli commented from the doorway.

"And yet I spent nearly ten years living as an invisible wanderer, content to pretend I was dead if that was what the Company wanted from me," Claude said back. "Invisibility is handy that way."

"I imagine that it is," she said. She moved to the table where a bottle of white wine sat with the cork half hanging out its neck. Removing it, she filled her glass thoughtfully. "I'm not angry about Peter being with another man, if that's what you're so worried about."

It was more that Claude was worried he was going to be turned to stone if he looked her directly in the eye, but he didn't say so, instead occupying himself with the task of mixing his own drink as she sipped at hers with what he couldn't help but think of as a sinister kind of elegance.

"I would, of course, prefer that he was with someone he could build a family with, but I learned long ago that I can't control who Peter gives his heart to," she said. "Or the fact that he gives it so freely." She moved around to his other side. "It was only a few years ago that Peter decided to tell me about his less than heterosexual tendencies, but I knew long before that. Mothers always do."

Normal mothers, maybe, Claude thought to himself. Not generally the ones who left their children to be raised by the hired help, as she apparently had.

"Nathan tells me you've reassured him you're not out to exploit Peter or extort money from this family in any way," she said. "I find that difficult to believe, but I suppose Nathan's opinion carries some weight given that he's not usually one to allow another man to encroach on his territory when it comes to Peter."

The sound of laughter rose up from the living room where everyone else still sat. Glancing in that direction, Claude saw Claire affecting an embarrassed look and knew the laughter had probably been inspired by a story she was telling. Peter smiled along with everyone but kept shooting nervous looks in the direction of the kitchen.

"Peter is a foolish boy," Angela continued after a moment. "Easily led. Easily manipulated. More powerful than I hope he ever knows."

Claude met her eyes then as, with that last observation, the penny dropped and he began to understand what it was she was getting at.

"I always knew my children would be special," she said with no small amount of pride before her expression darkened. "But the day I found out the exact nature of Peter's gift was one of the worst days of my life. Worse even than knowing that his eliminating half the population of New York was a necessary evil in the fight for the greater good." She took a quavering breath. "The day he decided to give up those powers, I had no regrets whatsoever. And neither did he."

"Is that so?" Claude asked.

"That's exactly so," she replied. She stepped closer to him, her words coming out now in staccato bursts. "You have no idea what you did, uncovering all of that for him again. No idea." Her eyes began to brim. "You should have just let him be."

"Let him be what?" Claude asked. "Let him be normal? Let him languish in a state of constant confusion while he spent all his time wondering about the memories he'd lost and why they were gone? Because it wasn't just his powers that got taken away when the Haitian came to visit, in case you hadn't noticed. It was me as well. And a couple of other people who weren't content to let themselves be forgotten just because Peter couldn't face the consequences of what almost happened. What you would have let happen if your other son hadn't intervened at the very last possible second."

She narrowed her eyes. "Don't you understand?" she said. "With his powers, Peter is a danger. He's a danger to himself. He's a danger to us all. It took the near-destruction of New York to show him that, but he understood in the end. Understood well enough to know he was better off without his powers, no matter how special they made him feel." Her lips tightened into a thin smile. "Maybe you departed from the Company in the end, but you must recognize the philosophy behind certain aspects of what they do."

"Aye, identify and extract from society the potentially dangerous people with special abilities," Claude said. "Is that what you want for Peter? To see him locked away in a cell somewhere for the rest of his life?"

"If I thought it would protect him from himself, I would do it," she said, lifting her chin. "But no, it's not what I want for him. Why do you think I allowed him to sacrifice those few useless, painful memories in the first place? It was the best way to help him avoid that very fate." She gave him a penetrating stare. "You took that away from him."

"Peter made his choices," Claude said. "He at least has a right to that."

She stepped away from him. "I want you to remember that you said that," she said. "Because if anything happens to that boy because of you or what you did, I will not rest until I'm satisfied that you've paid for it. And invisible or not, I can guarantee that you won't be able to hide from me. Understood?"

If the threat had come from anyone else, Claude might have tossed it off with a laugh and a rude joke. But something about the way she stared at him made him feel paralyzed. All he could do was nod his head.

"Good," she said before stepping around Claude. "I won't lose him again."

And with that, she left him standing alone in the kitchen.


	8. Chapter 8

**All the People We Used to Know  
Part 8/12**

Once everyone old enough to do so had gotten themselves thoroughly sloshed on alcohol, someone had the bright idea that it was time to decorate the tree--a real one which had been delivered and set up at the house the day before while Nathan, Peter and Claude were out fetching Claire. For his part, Claude sat back and watched the Petrelli family at work, sorting ornaments and tripping over each other trying to get them on the best branches. Peter threw the occasional glance Claude's way and Claude knew he was still wondering what had gone on in the kitchen. But Claude was careful to keep his thoughts on the matter shadowed. No need for Peter to know what his mother had said.

"I love real trees," Heidi commented as if someone had asked her why she didn't spare herself the inconvenience and simply buy an artificial one. "They just look and smell so nice."

"Remember the fake one we used to have as kids?" Peter asked Nathan.

"It was silver," Nathan replied with a grimace. "God, we had it for years."

"We still have that awful tacky thing," Angela put in from where she sat on the sofa, handing different colored glass bulbs off to each person in turn. "I could never stand to look at it but your father insisted every year that we drag it out from storage and set it up front and center so all our guests could see. He said he never really felt in the Christmas spirit until he saw it there." An almost wistful look came to her face. "He loved watching you children decorate it with those terrible ornaments you used to make at school." She shook her head. "I hated that tree."

"But you didn't throw it out," Peter said knowingly. "Did you?"

"No," Angela admitted. "I forgot about it last year with everything that was happening. My first Christmas without your father. But this year I didn't feel right not having it there. And my being by myself in that house, well…" She trailed off, throwing Peter a pointed look, the guilt-inducing kind that made Claude think they'd probably discussed at some point the possibility of Peter moving in with her, though Peter had never mentioned it to him.

"It does seem weird not to have Dad here," Peter said, sidestepping the issue neatly as he took a red bulb from his mother.

"Damn it, Pete, you've got to put the heavy ornaments near the bottom," Nathan said, carefully removing a snowman decoration that was weighing down a branch near the middle of the tree and bending down to place it on one of the lower branches instead.

"Actually, I think that was me," Claire confessed with a wince.

"Oh," Nathan said, reddening.

"What about you, Claire?" Heidi asked, swift to cover for them both as she helped her youngest son hang what looked like his own version of Angela Petrelli's much maligned school art projects on a lower branch. "What does your family do for a tree?"

"My dad and I used to go to the Christmas tree lot together and pick one out every year," Claire said. "When he was home, anyway. Other years, we had a fake one. My mom couldn't really haul a real one home by herself and my brother and I were too little to help."

"I didn't realize you had a brother," Heidi said, but not as if she suspected Nathan of keeping yet another secret from her.

"His name's Lyle," Claire said. "He's a few years younger than me."

"Sounds just about old enough to be helping your mom haul home that tree," Nathan said.

Claire smiled weakly, but said nothing.

"You're quiet," Peter said, coming up to Claude, who happened to be sitting by the box of extra hooks.

"Prefer to watch these things from afar," Claude said.

"Yeah, I kind of remember that from when we were over at Mohinder's place decorating the tree he and Matt got for Molly," Peter said. "But it seems like we couldn't shut you up back then. Now you're all…" He shrugged, trailing off.

"Drunk," Claude said. "I'm a little drunk. Too wobbly to be handling delicate glass objects and precious family heirlooms."

Peter raised an eyebrow at him. "Drunk off of a few mixed drinks?" he said doubtfully. "I've seen you recite the alphabet backwards after drinking a huge bottle of wine almost entirely by yourself. And if anything, it just made you louder."

"I remember that bottle," Claude said, thinking of the gift Nathan had sent up for Peter's birthday a few months back. One of those special gift bottles meant to be stored away until they reached their peak a set number of years later--more appropriate for newlywed couples looking forward to their first anniversary than your brother's birthday. Claude supposed Nathan had meant it as a hint that he fully expected Peter to still be alive and in working condition by the time his next birthday came around. But instead of waiting the required year, they'd decided to break into the thing the same night they'd received it. It had tasted terrible but after the first few mouthfuls, they'd stopped noticing. "It seems to me I had a little help with that one."

"Yeah, but I had to quit after half the bottle was gone," Peter said, leaning over so that his forehead touched Claude's. "You kept going. Then you opened up another bottle.'

Claude felt one corner of his mouth reach itself up into a half smile. "That was a good night," he said.

"Yeah, it was," Peter agreed before pressing his lips to Claude's, mindless of the surrounding family members trying very hard to appear as though they didn't notice the public display of affection.

Claude wrinkled his nose as Peter pulled away. "Now I know you're drunk," he said, eyeing the glass Peter had set down on the table next to him.

"Why? Because I kissed you in front of my family?" Peter asked.

"No, because you could thin paint with that breath of yours," Claude said.

Before Peter had a chance to respond, a sound came from the front hallway like the opening of the door and the scraping of feet. Everyone paused at once, exchanging looks as the shuffling footsteps drew nearer. A moment later, none other than Noah Bennet himself appeared in the doorway.

"Dad!" Claire exclaimed, managing to sound both relieved and humiliated at the same time. "You're early." She offered him a hug, which he returned readily.

"My business in New York didn't take as long as I thought it would," Bennet explained. "Sorry to just drop in on all of you like this." He didn't sound sorry at all as his gaze roamed the room full of people before coming to an abrupt halt on Claude, who hadn't moved from his place.

"There's a doorbell, you know," Nathan remarked as Claire led her father into the room. "And a security detail. How the hell did you even get in here?"

Before Bennet could gather himself enough to offer an answer, Heidi cut in. "It's so nice to finally meet you," she said, stepping forward. "I'm Heidi, Nathan's wife. These are our kids, Monty and Simon. This is Nathan's mother, Angela. I think you've already met Peter. And this is Peter's friend, Claude."

"Hello, everyone," Bennet said politely enough.

"Would you like something to drink?" Heidi asked.

"I think I would," he said. When Heidi began moving toward the kitchen, Bennet held up his hand. "That's all right. You and your family are obviously enjoying yourselves." He eyed the tree and what must have been to him a strange tableau--the sight of his daughter participating so comfortably in someone else's holiday traditions. One that didn't include going to the Christmas tree lot with him. "Claire, why don't you show me where the drinks are being kept?"

"Yeah, sure," Claire said, gesturing for her father to follow her out of the room.

"Well, that was about the least subtle thing I've seen all day," Angela Petrelli commented, the ice in her glass clinking against her teeth as she lifted her drink to her lips.

For a moment, everyone stood in silence. The cheerful music playing in the background--some horrible Christmas mix Nathan had put on earlier--suddenly seemed dissonant as the former self-consciousness, largely washed away by alcohol, returned full force. Even the children seemed at a loss for words. Meanwhile, the murmur of voices having a hushed conference in the other room filtered back to them. Claude had to give Bennet credit: at least he hadn't simply taken his daughter and run like he might have in the old days. But from the sound of it, Claire was having a difficult time explaining to him exactly what it was he'd walked into.

"I'm going to go have a look at that doorbell, make sure it still works," Nathan said abruptly, setting down the ornament he'd been ready to hang a moment ago and stalking out of the room.

"Nathan--" Heidi began, following after him.

"Kids, why don't you help Grandma finish decorating the tree?" Angela suggested, getting up from where she'd been sitting all afternoon. She bent down, balancing carefully on her high-heeled shoes as she dug through the cardboard box filled with ornaments. "This is a pretty one. Monty, why don't you hang this one over there?" She pointed to an empty branch at the boy's eye level.

"What the bleeding hell is Bennet doing showing up here a day early anyway?" Claude mumbled to Peter once the others were distracted. "Bastard."

"I think Nathan's wondering the same thing," Peter said.

"You think or you know?" Claude asked, raising an eyebrow.

Peter sighed, caught in the act. "He's upset. He felt like he was finally making progress with Claire, showing her he wasn't the monster she thought he was. He thinks Bennet showing up like this is going to ruin everything," he reported. "I don't think he has anything to worry about, though. Mostly Claire's just kind of embarrassed that Bennet felt like he had to come here and rescue her." Peter frowned. "What do you think it means? The fact that his 'business' in New York didn't take as long as he thought it would?"

"Most likely it means Suresh was more amenable to his agenda than he originally thought," Claude said. "Among other things."

"Shit," Peter said under his breath so his nephews wouldn't hear. "I think I'm going to go call Matt and see what's up over there." He rose from where he'd perched himself on the arm of Claude's chair, taking his mobile from its permanent place inside his pocket. He already had it flipped open and was navigating the menu before Claude had a chance to say anything.

"Fine, but if Parkman asks you how you found out, tell him you stole every last bit of it out of my head without my knowing," Claude said. "And be sure to mention you did it all while in the throes of ecstasy."

Peter rolled his eyes before walking away, the phone pressed to his ear.

Feeling at loose ends and not wanting to be stuck nearly alone in a room with Angela Petrelli so soon after their first unpleasant encounter, Claude rose from his chair and made his way toward the kitchen, where Claire and Bennet were still arguing under their breaths.

"I can't believe this," Bennet was saying as Claude approached. "You're saying he was there at the _airport? _That they didn't even tell you he was with them until you were already in the car? Didn't you find that a little underhanded? A little suspicious?"

"I was a little freaked out," Claire admitted. "But I trust Peter."

"Well, that makes one of us," Bennet said. "Why didn't you at least say something when I called you last night?"

Claire's brow furrowed. "I don't know. I guess it was just kind of…nice, okay?" she said. "Nice to be here with them and get to know them without you hanging over my shoulder every minute like you do at home. I'm sorry, Dad, but it's just…it's hard being watched all the time."

Bennet frowned and it was clear from his expression that what she'd said had hurt him.

"I thought the whole point of all this was so I could have a vacation from that," Claire added.

Bennet sighed. "In that case, I'm sorry," he said. "I just thought you might need me and instead of spending another night in a hotel wondering what these people were doing to you--"

"I know," Claire said. "But don't worry. It's not like I drank the Kool-Aid or anything. I didn't forget my biological grandmother had this whole conspiracy to blow up New York last year."

"And that's not even the half of it," Bennet remarked, essentially speaking Claude's thoughts aloud.

"It's just for another couple of days," Claire said hopefully. "Then we can go home and have Christmas with Mom and Lyle the way we always do."

"I guess," Bennet said, pulling Claire to him in a one-armed hug and kissing the top of her head. "Why don't you go finish decorating the tree? I think Claude wants to have a word with me."

Claire looked up and noticed for the first time that Claude was standing there.

"Yeah, okay," she said, offering a hesitant smile to Claude as she passed him.

Claude stepped into the kitchen and for a moment he and Bennet just stared at each other from across the room.

"We should take this outside," Bennet said.

Wordlessly, Claude followed Bennet out the back door into the garden. The days were short and it was already dark, but a light on the back of the house provided a pool of illumination for them to stand in.

"Those glasses are wrong for your face," Claude said after a minute.

"Claire picked them out," Bennet replied, sticking his hands in the pockets of the coat he'd yet to take off. He shuffled his feet a little. "Suresh didn't mention you."

"I'm wounded," Claude said. "Honestly."

"No, it's a good thing," Bennet said. "He might be new at this, but apparently he has some sense of discretion when it comes to the things he loves and the people he's close to."

"Not exactly sure I fit into that category with him," Claude said. "Talks about Molly though, doesn't he?"

"Molly's plight and how it relates to the virus is how he got the Company's attention in the first place," Bennet said. "It gives them the impression that have something they can hold over Suresh's head while they make him think all they're trying to do is help him in exchange for his services."

"So this _is _about the Company," Claude said.

"Like you didn't already know," Bennet said. He gazed out into the darkness, the look in his eyes obscured by the frames on his glasses. "Thompson's dead, by the way."

"Good," Claude said.

"I killed him."

"Thought it might come to that," Claude said. "If they ever threatened Claire, that is." He shifted his weight to the other foot. "Don't tell me you're trying to get back at them. Take them down from the inside."

"They're a danger to my family," Bennet said. "What am I supposed to do? Run and hide like you did?" He shook his head. "We can disappear if we want to, but not all of us have the ability to turn invisible."

"Look," Claude said. "This is the third serious conversation I've had today, which is about three more than my usual limit. So let's get this over with. Just tell me what exactly it is you're doing with Suresh. Other than drawing him into some sordid extramarital affair."

"I didn't recruit him, if that's what you're thinking," Bennet said. "Suresh volunteered for this. After what happened in New York last year, he was all too happy to play the man on the inside. To stop the Company from hurting anymore people."

"That was a year ago," Claude said. "Why is all of this happening now?"

"The time wasn't right until now," Bennet said. "Look, if you're worried about the little trip he's being sent on, just know that all the Company's doing is testing him. They want to make sure he's as valuable an asset as they think he is before they officially welcome him into the fold. It's a good sign."

"Yeah, that makes me feel loads better," Claude said.

"I'm just saying they wouldn't put him in any real danger his first time out. Remember, they want him to feel like he can trust them too." He turned so that he faced Claude squarely. "Incidentally, Suresh isn't the one you should be worrying about."

"No?" Claude said. "Why's that?"

Bennet nodded back in the direction of the house. "He's a little young, don't you think?"

"They're more fun that way," Claude said. "What's Peter got to do with anything?"

"The Company knows about him," Bennet said.

"They've known about him practically since before he was born," Claude said. "What's your point?"

"You know about empaths, Claude," Bennet said, looking down at the ground. "You know how unstable they can sometimes be, mentally and in terms of their powers."

"Aye," Claude acknowledged. "And?"

"The Company has always considered Peter to be a potential threat but they were willing to keep their distance so long as they didn't have definite proof that Peter was dangerous." Bennet gave him a significant look. "That proof came last year in New York."

Claude shifted, but said nothing.

"After the bomb, they labeled him a Level Five threat. They started to go after him but then they found out that he and his family had taken steps to subdue his powers on their own. Knowing he'd requested the services of the Haitian, they were willing to leave him alone for the time being."

A sinking feeling like an anchor being dropped into the water lodged in Claude's gut as he remembered Angela Petrelli's words, only hours earlier: _You have no idea what you did, uncovering all that for him again. No idea._

"Now he has his powers back, they've got their eye on him again," Claude surmised grimly.

Bennet nodded, equally grim. "Suresh is in Haiti," he said. "The Company sent him there because the Haitian has been affected by the same virus that crippled Molly. Suresh can cure it, of course. But what the Company doesn't know is that by curing the Haitian, allowing him to use his powers again, they're actually doing me a favor."

"The Haitian's decided to go rogue, then?" Claude asked.

"Yes," Bennet said.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because maybe in this case we're not quite the enemies we thought we were," Bennet said, casting another glance back toward the house. He stepped closer, lowering his voice so that to any outsider it would appear that they were whispering conspiratorially now. "If Suresh is successful and the Haitian comes back, I'm going to be traveling to the Ukraine. Pay a visit to our old friend Ivan."

Claude stiffened at the name. "What for?" he asked.

"Before he died, Isaac Mendez did a series of eight paintings. The first one was of Kaito Nakamura's death," Bennet said. "I don't have any of the others."

"Kaito Nakamura's not dead, is he?" Claude said.

"Not yet," Bennet replied. "I need to find out what's in those other paintings. I have reason to believe Ivan will know where they are."

"Christ," Claude said.

"You could come with me, if you want," Bennet said. "You should come."

"What for?" Claude said. "It was never Ivan who ordered my death. Or the one who attempted to carry out those orders, for that matter. I've no problem with him."

"But what if Peter's in one of those paintings?" Bennet asked. "You must have noticed that Peter is featured in more of Mendez's paintings than almost anyone else. There's a good chance that--"

"Just stop," Claude said. "You can't stand there and tell me how Peter's gained the unwanted attention of the Company for accessing his powers again in one breath and then in the next ask me to help you uncover a painting that might give them even more reason to target him."

Bennet shifted. "Maybe you should ask Peter what he wants to do," he said.

Claude crossed his arms. "Yes, because not three hours ago did his own mother give me a pretty clear picture of what exactly she's going to do to me if anything happens to him," he said.

Bennet tilted his head so that the light from the house reflected in the lenses of his glasses. "Of course, that will be nothing compared to what you'll do to yourself if anything happens to him," he said. "You really care about him, don't you?"

"Don't rub it in," Claude said, bristling.

"I know--if you'd had a choice in the matter, it wouldn't be like this," Bennet said. "Sometimes I feel the same way about Claire. But it didn't happen that way. She's my daughter. I can't let the Company hurt her or the rest of my family. I won't make them live that way."

"Good for you," Claude said. "But that doesn't mean I'm hunting down Ivan with you."

Bennet raised an eyebrow. "You might just change your mind."

"You better hope I don't have a reason to," Claude said, already walking away.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

**All the People We Used to Know****  
Part 9/12**

When Claude woke two mornings later, the house was uncharacteristically quiet. His first suspicion was that some kind of mass murder had taken place overnight after he'd gone to sleep--one in which the Petrelli family, finally folding under the weight of their forced holiday cheer, had laced each other's glasses with arsenic and fallen down dead one after the other whilst still holding pleasant, civilized conversation about such concerns as the rising price of petrol.

Sad, that.

But really, it had only been a matter of time and since Peter had the ability to get up and walk away from just about anything, Claude wasn't about to get all torn up over the tragic demise of his immediate relations.

Caught up in his fantasy, it took longer than it normally would have for Claude to notice he was alone in the bed. In the grand scheme of things, this was not hugely unusual. When they'd first known each other, Peter's sleeping habits had been that of a particularly lazy teenager--even with the threat of the coming apocalypse hanging over his head the boy was never awake or fully functional before noon. These days, his patterns were more erratic and while there were still times when Claude was well into his day before Peter dragged himself from bed, it wasn't uncommon for Peter to rise first.

But this was the first time Peter had left Claude abandoned since arriving at the house a few days earlier. Staring at the white blankness of the ceiling, Claude tried not to list in his head all the ways that this was not a good sign. For one thing, it was just common sense that being alone left them both more vulnerable to attack. Claude didn't exactly fancy being cornered into another of those Serious Conversations Peter's family seemed so fond of. More than that, he knew Bennet had been biding his time, waiting to discuss with Peter the things he and Claude had talked about that first night in the garden. Claude himself had shared none of the details of that particular conversation but he didn't have to be a mind reader to know Peter was deeply curious about it. He had little doubt Bennet would take full advantage of the opportunity to recruit the boy to his cause.

With this thought in mind, Claude dressed quickly and crept downstairs with admittedly uncharacteristic caution. He peered into each room he passed but found them all mysteriously empty until he came to the kitchen where Claire, wearing an apron and a thick coating of flour, was putting a fair bit of muscle into stirring something she'd put together in a large mixing bowl.

"Morning," she said, her voice strained as she fought with her creation.

"Bloody hell," Claude said, stepping warily closer. "What are you doing?"

"Baking," Claire said. "They're snowman cookies. Or, well, they will be."

"And you're doing this by yourself?" he asked.

She smiled sweetly at him and he knew he'd made a mistake. "Not anymore," she said, holding the mixing bowl out to him.

Claude let it drop onto the counter like it was on fire. "Where's everyone else?"

"Nathan had to take care of something at the office," Claire said. "Heidi, Mrs. Petrelli and the boys are out Christmas shopping. And Peter and my dad are…around here somewhere."

A cold feeling ran through Claude as his suspicions were confirmed. "I don't like the sound of that," he said.

"Tell me about it," Claire replied.

She raised a carefully sculpted eyebrow at him, pushing the bowl closer again. He hesitated, thinking he should find Bennet and Peter and rudely interrupt whatever conversation they were having. But by now the damage had probably already done. If he had to deal with the fallout, it was better to do it when he had Peter alone and could reason with him without being undermined by Bennet.

"Fine," he said and picked up the bowl. "But if you tell anybody about this, I'll…do something that will physically hurt but have no lasting consequences because you heal from everything and probably have an unusually high tolerance for pain."

"That's a pretty lame threat," she replied.

"Aye, well, I'd be more creative only I think your father probably has listening devices planted all over this house and if I say anything that registers above a negative two on whatever scale he uses to measure whether or not you're in danger, he'll burst in here and that'll be it for me," Claude said.

"And then Peter would have to kill him," Claire said.

"And then you'd have to kill Peter."

"Except there's no way to kill Peter," she said.

"Oh, there are ways," Claude said. "Not that I'm going to tell you what they are. Never been a fan of dramatic irony, me. But there are ways. And then once you'd killed him, Nathan would probably kill you."

"Or Mrs. Petrelli," Claire said, shuddering.

"They'd have to draw lots for it," Claude agreed.

Claire laughed, pulling a rolling pin out of a drawer she'd been riffling through. Like many of the drawers in the house, it was carefully labeled for Peter's benefit. As if they'd expected him to do any cooking while he was visiting.

"This is a really messed up family, isn't it?" she said. "I mean, it's been cool getting to know them and everything. But this is definitely not what I had in mind when I used to imagine what my biological family was like."

"A lot of adopted kids probably say that. The ones who get to meet their biological families anyway," Claude said. "But in your case, it's probably true."

"Yeah, well, it's not like they were expecting me either," she said diplomatically. "A girl who can walk through fire or stick her hand in a blender and not get hurt." She put down the rolling pin and picked up a cookie cutter in the shape of a snowman. "I just think this is one of those families where it feels like something bad will happen if all the people in it are in the same room together at the same time."

"That's because you were there that night in New York," Claude said. "You saw what happened. More than that, you got a special backstage pass to what almost happened. Not a pretty sight, from what I understand."

Claire frowned contemplatively. "Sometimes I kind of hate the fact that Peter doesn't remember all that stuff," she said. "It was like we had a bond because he was the first person I ever met who was like me. And now I see him and it's like we're strangers. It's weird."

Claude nodded in understanding.

"But I guess I'm kind of glad he doesn't remember that night," she said. "I think he's lucky."

"Yeah, self-induced amnesia has its uses," Claude said grimly.

A slight pause. "Can I ask you something?"

"I'm elbow-deep in raw dough at the moment and not likely to escape," Claude said. "So now's probably a good time."

Claire gave him that smile all teenagers had when they thought an adult was trying to be funny and not succeeding. Growing serious, she said, "When you were with Primatech…did you ever meet a boy named West?"

Claude paused in his stirring. "I didn't make it a point to know the names of the people we were after, if that's what you're asking," he said.

"Oh," Claire said, turning red. "That's okay. I didn't mean to pry or anything. I just thought--"

"Why do you ask?" Claude asked.

Claire bit her lip as she began to gently pull the snowmen shapes out of the pile of dough she'd flattened. "West is a friend of mine," she said.

"Ah," Claude said. "I'm assuming you're using the word 'friend' here in the euphemistic sense out of a diplomatic need to spare your father's feelings."

"You mean like when Peter calls you his 'friend' so his mother doesn't freak out?" Claire countered.

"Freak out? You mean spontaneously burst into flame," Claude said. "If Peter uses sexually ambiguous phrases when referring to our relationship, it's only because to do otherwise in this environment is a fire hazard. You know how it is."

"Well, then, I guess the answer to your question is yes--West is my 'friend' the same way Peter is your 'friend,'" Claire said, using air quotes to emphasize her point. "But without the creaking bedsprings."

"The creaking bedsprings are the best part," Claude said.

"Yeah, I got that impression," Claire said. "Anyway, West is this guy I know. Remember when Nathan was asking me in the car about my boyfriend? That's him."

"The one who can fly," Claude said, the memory clicking into place. "I'm beginning to see where this is going."

"The Company took West when he was a kid," Claire explained anyway. "My dad was the one who did it." She looked away. "I guess I was just wondering if you were there too."

"Don't remember," Claude said. "Might have been after me."

Claire nodded. Her hands came to rest on the edge of the counter and he could see her eyes becoming dangerously watery. He wondered what it was had possessed him to allow her to initiate this conversation in the first place.

"I love my dad," she said after a minute, voice wobbly. "It's just that sometimes I think maybe…maybe he was one of the bad guys. You know?"

"Misguided is probably the better word," Claude said.

Claire shook her head. "You hurt people," she said. "Both of you. You used to hurt people, didn't you?"

Like an unsuspecting adult drawn into a conversation about the birds and the bees with a child that wasn't theirs, Claude suddenly found himself wishing that Bennet would walk into the room so he could hand off the responsibility of this mess to him. But Bennet was nowhere in sight and so Claude was forced to answer.

"Our job was to take the people the Company had identified as 'special' into custody, most often against their will," Claude admitted. "They were studied and tested, just like you said. If after all that, they weren't classified as dangerous, we'd usually let them go. Hardly a scrape. Maybe a piece of their memory missing once the Haitian got involved. There was also the matter of the tracking device. Harmless thing just so the Company could keep tabs on the person's movements, follow their gene pool--all that."

Claire's brow furrowed. "What if they were dangerous?"

Of course she would ask that.

"Put away," he said.

Claire reached for the bowl he'd been mixing and took the dough out, beginning to flatten it with the rolling pin. "That's kind of terrible," she said after a minute.

"Mostly it is," Claude acknowledged. "But at the same time it serves its purpose on some level." He reached for a towel to wipe his hands with, mostly just so he had something to look at besides her. "There are dangerous people out there with dangerous abilities. You remember Sylar. There are others as well. Even one the Company has kept in custody for thirty years--some four hundred year old man who can't grow old or die but wouldn't mind if the rest of the world did, sooner rather than later. Probably an ancestor of yours, come to think of it. Somewhere down the line anyway."

"Great," Claire said. "Another winner to add to the family tree." She caught his eye. "Peter told me you didn't believe in what the Company did anymore. But you sound like you're defending them."

"Let's just say years of training aren't so easily thrown off as I sometimes like to think," Claude said. "Truth is, I can't fault them for wanting to protect the world from the likes of Sylar and that Adam Monroe person. But I think their methods leave something to be desired." He cleared his throat. "In a perfect world, people like you and me would have civil rights enough that organizations like the Company couldn't just take us away and do what they liked with us. But until that happens--and it probably won't--the Company can violate us any way it likes so long as the people who work for it can convince themselves that what they're doing is for the greater good. That's the part I have trouble agreeing with."

Claire sighed. "I'm getting really depressed now."

"It's a depressing subject," Claude said.

And it was. Which was exactly why Claude had made a point of not thinking about any of it for the near decade he'd spent in hiding. The Company had gone on existing without him, continuing to hurt the people he'd tried to help in the end. And that had been fine, so long as his own life wasn't being threatened in the process. But there had admittedly been times when he'd fantasized about the Company's downfall and in doing so, he'd always imagined he'd have some hand in it--even if it was nothing more grand than standing on the sidelines and watching as it all burned to the ground. But the task had always seemed too big for him. No one could take on anything that powerful and win or even lose with dignity. It just didn't happen and so he'd been content not to try.

Now here Bennet was, dangling in front of him his dearest wish in the form of some half-assed plan that involved, among other things, a series of prophetic paintings and fuck knew what else. Of course, the invitation to come and do his part came with a fair bit of manipulation. It wasn't like Claude didn't know how Bennet was using Peter to get to him. But Claude tried to imagine what would happen if the Company did get their hands on Peter--besides his own long, drawn out and very painful death at the hands of Angela Petrelli. What would they do to him there? What would Peter let them do out of guilt over all the troubles his powers had caused in the past? Claude didn't like to think of it. He also didn't like to think that, Gorgon or not, Angela Petrelli had been right when she'd warned him of the Pandora's box he'd been opening in reintroducing Peter to his powers.

"Claude?" Claire's voice broke into his thoughts. "Are you okay?"

Claude shifted uncomfortably. "Course," he said. "Just…thinking that's all."

Before she had a chance to ask him anything else, they both heard the sound of the front door opening and suddenly the quiet Claude had so relished disappeared with the squealing voices and stamping feet of two little boys, who bounded into the house closely followed by their mother and grandmother. Not sure that he wanted to be caught participating in holiday baking activities, Claude disappeared just as Heidi and Angela Petrelli came into the room, exclaiming in delighted surprise at the sight of Claire's unfinished project. As the boys began fighting over the rights to lick the spoon, Claude slinked silently away.


	10. Chapter 10

**All the People We Used to Know  
Part 10/12**

"You could stay, you know," Claude said from where he'd seated himself on the edge of the bed in the guest bedroom. He'd been watching Peter wander about the room broodingly for about an hour now, randomly stuffing things into his suitcase only to take them back out again. "I could go back to New York and you could stay here for a bit over Christmas. If that's what you want."

In a way, Claude had to give Peter's relatives credit--they'd managed to hold out until the last twenty-four hours of his scheduled visit before they'd started openly pressuring him into staying that extra week so they could all be together for the actual Christmas holiday. It had started with a few casually dropped hints and culminated in what amounted to an ambush at the dinner table, orchestrated primarily by Nathan and Angela and supported by Heidi and the boys.

Through it all, Claude half-expected Peter to eventually give in but in response to this final gambit, he'd only said, "It's just that I kind of need to get back."

"Get back to what, exactly?" his mother had asked him from across the table.

"Ma," Nathan had cut in sternly before Peter had a chance to reply.

But Angela wasn't deterred so easily. "No, I really want to know. What is it that you do in New York that's so important, Peter?" she said. "It isn't as though you have a job. You don't have friends." A pointed look thrown at Claude as if this was somehow his fault. "Wouldn't it be more honest instead of saying you need to get back to simply say that you need to get away? From us, I mean."

Peter's jaw had tightened. He'd said nothing but the nerve had been struck and after dinner he'd escaped straight to the guest room, Claude close behind. Peter had been tense anyway after his secret discussion with Bennet the morning before. Now he fairly hummed with it and if there was anything Claude wanted, it was not to be stuck on a train for hours on end with a sullen, silent Peter sitting next to him.

Peter ran a hand through his hair, sighing into the depths of his haphazardly packed luggage. "I almost want to," he admitted with difficulty. "I mean, it's Christmas and I don't spend as much time with them as I should. And my mother's right. It's not like I have a whole lot going for me in New York."

Claude arched an eyebrow at him.

Peter rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean," he said and Claude did. He'd been around enough to know how Peter chafed at what he perceived to be his own uselessness. As the boy had said once before, he'd had all the schooling he needed to hold a proper job--still had all the skills necessary for that whole nursing thing he'd been involved in before. But the unreliability of his memory meant he didn't trust himself enough to actually do any of it anymore. Not yet, at any rate.

"The thing is," Peter continued after a moment, "if I do stay through Christmas, then it's going to be, 'Why don't you stay for New Year's?' And then suddenly Nathan will have this job for me at one of his offices and maybe I could live here with them or live in New York with my mother. I could try to be productive for once instead of just hanging around the city doing nothing with my…whatever."

He slammed the top of the suitcase closed with one hand, barely missing the fingers of his other hand as it came down. Claude wondered if he'd meant to hit them the way Claire sometimes meant to stick her hand in a blender, just so he could feel that healing energy running through him as he watched his own body parts mend before his eyes. It was probably just reflex that had caused him to pull away at the last second.

"Fine, then," Claude said after a tense moment of silence. "I just thought you should know it was all right with me, if that was what you were worried about."

But of course it wouldn't have been all right with him at all and he spent almost an entire sleepless night fearing that Peter would change his mind at the last second. Because he knew Peter was right. The Petrellis had managed to be civil enough during his week-long stay but when it came down to it, they would far rather have Peter under their watchful eye than anywhere else. Once they had him, they might never let him go again.

So it was a bit of relief the next day to be standing on the platform at the train station, moments way from escape. Even if it didn't stop Nathan from trying one last time to convince Peter not to go.

"You know if you don't stay I'm the one who's going to get blamed, right?" he said. "It's going to be all 'You should be keeping a better eye on him' and 'He's your responsibility now that your father's gone.'" It was a frighteningly accurate imitation of Angela's voice. "I'll start having flashbacks to those times when they forced me to baby-sit you on the nanny's night off."

"You mean those times they forced you to baby-sit me and you spent the whole night ignoring me while you locked yourself in your room and made out with whatever girl you were going out with that week," Peter said.

A smug smile tugged briefly at Nathan's lips before fading into a more serious expression. "I'm just saying it would mean a lot to her," he said, nodding over his shoulder to where Angela stood just out of earshot, a deep scowl on her face as she made a point of focusing elsewhere.

"I know," Peter said. "But you guys always have the big parties with all the people I don't know. And Matt, Mohinder and Molly…they really don't have anybody else. I think it would mean more to them."

Nathan rocked on his heels, lips slightly pursed. "So I guess it wouldn't make a difference if I pointed out that we're your family and we should take priority in this situation," he said.

"No," Peter said, sticking his hands deeply in the pockets of the coat he wore. "Sorry, but they're my family now too." Something twitched at the corner of Nathan's eye and Claude knew Peter had hit a nerve on that one, whether he'd meant to or not.

Nathan looked down at his shoes. "Next year, then," he said.

Peter's shoulders relaxed a little in obvious relief. "Definitely," he agreed.

"In the meantime, you'll visit," Nathan said. He didn't quite look at Claude as he added, "Both of you."

"I'd pretend to get all emotional except that I think you're only saying that because you know how much it would torture me to have to spend any more time with you and your family than I absolutely have to," Claude said.

"That and the kids liked you," Nathan said. It was true, unfortunately. Like cats, children had a tendency to gravitate toward the people who liked them least and so Claude had found himself in the last few days constantly being climbed over like some sort of human playground equipment. "But just so you know, no one will be less thrilled than me if they start calling you Uncle Claude, okay?"

Claude made a face. "I think I'm going to be ill," he said.

Seeming satisfied by this response, Nathan turned to Peter. "Look, I know you don't want to hear this right now, but it wouldn't hurt if you visited Mom once in a while too. You know, before she starts shoplifting again just to get our attention."

"Or plotting another epic disaster involving the lives of millions of innocent civilians," Claude added.

"God, don't even get me started on that," Nathan said as if everyone's aging mother was prone to such things.

Luckily, there was no time to examine the subject further as the train finally arrived at the station. The push and pull of its entrance was cue enough for the rest of their seeing-off party to step forward just as Nathan drew Peter into a tight embrace, which Peter returned readily.

"You come visit too," Peter said to his brother, barely loud enough for Claude to hear. "Someday when you're spending time at your office in New York or whatever. Come by and see us."

"I will," Nathan said before pulling away and stepping aside so that the others could have their turn.

First off was Claire, who arched an eyebrow at Peter. "You're really going to leave me here with these people?" she said.

"Just for a couple of days," Peter said. "Then you're back to California, right?"

"Yeah, back to Cali for the first Butler family Christmas. That should be interesting," she said, rolling her eyes. "Listen," she added, stepping closer, "your family is still crazy. And not, like, in the funny sitcom kind of way. Like, seriously crazy. But it was good to see you again."

"Yeah," Peter said, drawing her into a loose hug. "It was good to meet you too…again." He cleared his throat. "Thanks for giving Nathan a chance."

Claire lifted a shoulder as she pulled away. "I think it was worth it," she said. "I mean, it still freaks my dad out--"

"But that's half the fun, isn't it?" Claude put in.

Claire smiled, turning to him. "You are a strange, strange person," she said. "But thanks for…being honest with me about the things we talked about. It was kind of a nice change, being told the truth for once." She hesitated. "Am I allowed to, like, hug you or anything?"

"I don't do hugging," Claude said. "You know how it is."

"I don't know," Peter said. "Monty and Simon were mauling you pretty good before they let you leave the house earlier. And it kind of looked like you were letting them."

"Yeah, well, have to make nice with the future villains of America, don't I?" Claude said. Turning to Claire, he asked, "Settle for a friendly handshake?"

She proffered her hand and he took it, shaking it loosely and trying not to remember the baby girl in that burning building or the poodle-like toddler at the birthday party. There had been a time when he himself hadn't been so unlike Thompson and the others at the Company in that he'd dreamed of using Claire to get back at Bennet for what had been done to him. Now this.

As Claire shook Claude's hand, Bennet hovered until she stepped away and it was time for him to take his turn. With a stiff kind of formality, he reached out and shook Peter's hand before turning to Claude, who kept his hands at his sides, refusing the gesture. Letting his own hand drop, Bennet peered at both of them over the rims of his sizeable lenses and said, "Think about what I told you."

No telling who it was he was addressing but it occurred to Claude that this was probably the point of such an ambiguous farewell. As far as what Bennet had talked about with each of them, he and Peter had yet to exchange stories, choosing to sort their own thoughts and let the weight of it all settle inside their heads before initiating any kind of discussion. Sensing their reticence, Bennet had taken it upon himself to accelerate the process by making it impossible for them not to ask each other what he had meant.

"Peter," Angela Petrelli said as she approached them. She didn't seem the type for affectionate embraces in public settings, but Claude thought if there was anyone she'd make an exception for, it was Peter--even if she was a bit put out with him at the moment. Instead, all she did was put a hand on each of her son's shoulders and make kissing sounds next to each of his cheeks. That done, she looked between them, the severity of her frown deepened by the lines bracketing her mouth. "I think you'll both be sorry," was all she said before stepping away.

"Merry fucking Christmas to you too," Claude muttered, watching her go.

Good-byes said, Peter and Claude boarded the train and found their seats. Peter took the window, slouching down a bit as if to hide from any family members who might be lingering on the platform, though Claude was sure they'd all gone the moment the boarding call had officially been made. Sighing so that his breath made a cloud of moisture on the glass, Peter reached for Claude's hand and threaded their fingers loosely together.

Superstitiously, Claude waited for the train to start moving before he spoke. "I suppose you want to talk about--"

"No," Peter said, not looking away from the window. "Not yet."

Claude sighed. "All right, then," he said.


	11. Chapter 11

**All the People We Used to Know  
Part 11/12**

"So we finally get back home and not five minutes after we walk in the door, Nathan calls," Peter was explaining to Suresh. Two weeks after their triumphant escape from Washington--New Year's Eve--and it was only now that Suresh thought to ask what had inspired Peter's panic that first night away. He'd already gotten through the part about the labels on the drawers and the infamous puzzle book (which now sat hidden in a drawer in their flat, half-finished in Claude's handwriting). This was the epilogue. "He's all mad, saying--" and here Peter affected a voice that would have sounded like Nathan if Nathan had sounded like the big bad wolf threatening to blow the little pig's house down "-- 'You think it's funny, but what if the kids had seen it?'"

"Seen what?" Suresh asked, brows knitting in amused confusion, a hesitant smile finding its way onto his lips.

"The cards he'd taped to the drawers," Peter said. "They had room on them for us to add stuff when we unpacked. So, like, if I'd put a tube of toothpaste in the medicine cabinet to go with the bottle of aspirin and the band-aids, I could have written it down so I'd know it was in there."

"Right," Suresh said.

"I think I know where this is going," Parkman said, setting his beer down on the table between them all. He eyed Claude. "What did you write on there?"

Claude affected an innocent expression. "Just the essentials," he said. "Condoms, lubricant, a few sex toys."

"Oh my God," Suresh said, covering his face. "How awful."

"Just doing my bit to promote safe sex," Claude said.

"Among eight year olds?" Parkman asked.

"They start early these days," Claude said. "Anyway, it serves him right. Dangling temptation in front of me like that. He should know better."

Suresh shook his head before turning to Peter. "But did labeling the drawers help at all?" he asked, taking a sip from his own beer bottle. "I know you felt insulted by them when you first saw them, but did they make it any easier for you to find things?" Claude imagined that the pen was poised on Suresh's writing tablet of a mind, ready to assimilate this new information.

"It didn't hurt," Peter admitted. "Having them there just made me feel kind of stupid."

"But having Spongebob Squarepants hanging on your bedroom door inspires no shame whatsoever," Claude said.

Parkman pulled a face. "Is it wrong that Spongebob gives me nightmares?"

Claude wordlessly held out his bottle. Parkman picked his up again and they clinked the two together in a gesture of solidarity.

"I remember when Molly made that picture for you," Suresh said, nodding toward the closed bedroom door behind which Molly supposedly slept. "She wanted to find a picture that, as she said, a boy would like. All the ones in the book she had were of flowers or ponies." He began pulling at the label on his bottle. "It will please her to know you still have that."

"It definitely helps," Peter said.

Parkman glanced at his watch. "Speaking of Molly," he said. "I should probably go wake her up. It's almost time." The girl had gone to bed under protest two hours earlier with the promise that they'd wake her in time to ring in the new year.

"I'll come with you," Peter said as Parkman rose.

Left alone, Claude and Suresh sat in awkward silence before Suresh moved to turn on the television. Flipping through the channels, he settled on one that already had its camera aimed at the famous ball in Times Square, though it would be minutes yet before it moved so much as an inch.

"Been living in this city for years now and I've never seen it in person," Claude commented, gesturing toward the sparkling orb on the screen.

"I'm not certain I would want to with all those people standing in that crowd," Suresh said, eyes on the countdown clock.

Claude nodded in agreement. "So," he said after a minute. "I hear Haiti is lovely this time of year."

Surprise flickered in Suresh's eyes but he didn't look away from the television. "Oh?" he said. When Claude only raised an eyebrow, he relented. "Well, I must say it comforts me to know how open Bennet is with the information I had assumed he was keeping in confidence."

"Yeah, well, Bennet and I are old pals. Used to braid each other's hair and everything," Claude said. "Anyway, if it makes you feel better, he only told me because he was trying to recruit me at the time. Wanted me to help the two of you take down the Company and all that."

"I see," Suresh said.

Claude waited a few beats before giving in to his own impatience. "So?" he said. "How was Haiti?"

The lights on the screen reflected in Suresh's dark eyes as he considered his answer. "To be quite honest, I don't remember," he said wryly. "I suppose that means it must have gone well."

"The Haitian's back in working order, then?" Claude asked.

"It would seem so," Suresh said.

"Grand," Claude said.

A moment passed.

"Did Bennet mention to you anything about Isaac Mendez and his paintings?" Suresh asked.

"The series of eight," Claude said. "He told me there was one of Kaito Nakamura, dead."

Suresh nodded solemnly. "Yes," he said. "I found another shortly after my return from Haiti. The Company was keeping it in storage in the facility where they have me working now, researching the virus."

Claude's mouth went dry as he remembered Bennet's hypothesis that Peter would be featured in one of the paintings. "Yeah?" he said.

"It was of Bennet," Suresh said and all at once Claude could breathe again. "He was dead. Shot through the eye. There were two figures hovering over him in the background. One was a blonde girl--she looked like his daughter. The other one…wasn't clear."

"Bloody hell," Claude muttered. It was one thing to be willing to die to protect your family. It was another to see such a scene rendered in full color right before your eyes.

"Naturally, Bennet was quite shaken when he saw it," Suresh said. "I think perhaps he may even have delayed the next step of his plan for a time because of it."

"He's giving up?" Claude asked.

"No, I don't think so," Suresh said. "It's just that he wanted to spend Christmas and the new year with his family without having to worry about…well." He gestured vaguely.

"I see," Claude said, leaning back in his own seat. If Bennet was delaying, that meant the trip he'd been planning to the Ukraine probably hadn't happened yet. Which in turn meant Claude's waffling had done nothing to passively close out his options, as he'd hoped it would. There was still a decision needed to be made.

Suresh shifted now, turning so that he faced Claude more fully. "You said that Bennet was trying to recruit you when you were over in Washington," he said.

"Aye," Claude said. "Have a bit of a grudge against the Company myself. Also, he seemed to think they might start threatening Peter, now he has his powers back."

Suresh's eyes widened. "Peter's in danger?"

"Nothing's for sure," Claude said. "But there's a chance. Anyway, I told Bennet to go to hell but…"

"But since then you've started thinking about it," Suresh surmised.

"I have," Claude acknowledged.

"And?"

"And I don't know," Claude said. "Even without them going after Peter, I have reason enough to want them gone, don't I? But 'dare I disturb the universe' and all that." He contemplated the last of the liquid in his bottle but didn't drink it. Thin American piss. "Besides that, I think Bennet had his own talk with Peter. Peter hasn't told me what about yet. Mostly we've been spending the past couple of weeks pretending like nothing ever happened but I imagine it will have to come out sooner or later."

Suresh nodded. "I understand your hesitation," he said. "Even with Molly and what they did to her, I sometimes wonder if I'm doing the right thing or if I'm simply putting us all in more danger."

"Yeah, well, just know that the Company has ways of getting to you," Claude said. "It's like Stockholm syndrome, only worse. More dangerous, what they can make you do when they know you're not looking."

Suresh bowed his head. "I'll remember that," he said.

Claude cleared his throat, focusing back on the countdown clock. Only two more minutes now. "So," he said. "You finally going to kiss Parkman at the stroke of midnight or what?"

Suresh gave him a dry look. "Who says I haven't already?" he shot back just as Parkman and Peter emerged from the bedroom, a sleepy Molly in Parkman's arms.

Peter settled in beside Claude with a minute left to go and together they watched the seconds tick past. Claude reflected that it had been a long time since he'd last been caught up in any kind of a New Year's celebration, even one as patently lame as this. Hard to notice the passing of time when you spent so much of your own out on the streets with nowhere in particular to be and no one in particular to be with, other than a flock of pigeons. But now with the clock running out and Peter's arm brushing against his, the announcer began to count backward from ten and it seemed to Claude that there was a kind of pressure to it all. He knew that once the clock hit zero, more would be ending than just another calendar year.

"Happy New Year," Peter murmured as the first strains of "Auld Lang Syne" began to play somewhere underneath the cheers of the crowd as the fireworks started. "Did I forget to ask you before if it was acceptable to give you a New Year's kiss?"

"You did," Claude said. "And it isn't, by the way. I'm not one of your sodding girlfriends." He paused. "However, new year's sex is an acceptable alternative. We could go back to the flat or, if you like, I think I remember a few of our favorite dark corners around here."

"Yeah, except I think Matt and Mohinder will be using those," Peter said, nodding toward where Parkman and Suresh were taking turns kissing Molly on the cheek in a version of a New Year's kiss that was only vaguely pedophiliac.

"You think?" Claude asked.

"Yeah," Peter said, a sly grin on his face. "I do."

"Well, then," Claude said, "we best be going, hadn't we?"


	12. Chapter 12

**All the People We Used to Know  
Part 12/12**

The next morning, Claude rose from bed to find a note attached to the icebox where the family tree used to be, distinguishable from the dozens of other sticky notes that littered the place only in the fact that it was bright green and therefore adhered to the strict color code he and Peter had established a few months back after a minor misunderstanding involving a stop at the dry cleaner's. From then on, Peter had been free to write notes meant only for himself in any color he pleased so long as it wasn't bright green, which was the designated color for a note addressed to Claude. Mostly, these kinds of communications involved mundane, frighteningly domestic requests like _Pick up milk from the market if you go out _and _Don't forget to bring the DVD back to the video shop. _This one said simply, _At the loft._

It wasn't standard practice in their relationship for Peter to inform Claude when he planned on spending time at Isaac Mendez's old place. Which was fine with Claude because, as far as he could tell, Peter's activity of choice when he was there was a particularly solitary form of brooding. That was when he wasn't going all filmy-eyed and painting pictures of an apocalyptic future. No, the loft was not exactly a place where one went to throw tea parties and Claude was all too happy to stay away as long as Peter remembered to come back at the end of the day.

But now Peter was openly telling him his whereabouts, outright and in no uncertain terms. Not only that, but the wording made it somehow seem almost like some sort of invitation for Claude to follow at his earliest possible convenience.

Resenting the loss of the languid morning he'd been hoping to enjoy following their vigorous fulfillment of the "New Year's sex" idea during the night, Claude debated with himself as he washed and dressed. If Peter really wanted him at the loft, why hadn't he just waited until Claude was awake enough to go with him in the first place instead of leaving such an ambiguous message? Now Claude had to haul himself all the way over there, not even certain this his presence was wanted. What was he supposed to do if he arrived to find the boy feverishly creating an image of some fresh, new disaster for them all to prevent? Interrupt or just stand awkwardly to the side until Peter realized he was there? Neither option appealed to him but worrying like this made him feel like some sort of soppy girl and while there was nothing in writing, it was a clear stipulation of their relationship that if either of them was the girl, it was Peter.

Of course, Claude wasn't above planning for contingencies and so once he arrived at the loft, he turned himself invisible in the hopes of easing his escape if one was needed. But when he walked in, he didn't find Peter painting at all. Instead, he sat seated on a stool at a worktable in the middle of the room, bent over a large sheet of paper, pencil poised and ready. He lowered it as soon as the door closed behind Claude.

"You slept late," Peter commented, looking up in Claude's general direction without seeing him.

"I'm an old man," Claude reminded him. "You wore me out last night."

Peter made a face but tactfully said nothing as Claude approached the table, shedding his invisibility as he went. He hovered a bit before sliding onto the stool next to Peter. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

"This is about what Bennet said to you, isn't it?" Claude asked eventually. "That morning when the two of you disappeared, I mean."

Peter scratched idly at a cloudy stain on the table's surface. Without looking up, he answered, "Yeah."

Claude waited for him to go on.

"It's not like the stuff he was telling me was anything new," Peter said. "Mostly he just talked about how the only way to protect Claire from the Company is to destroy them and how Mohinder is trying to protect Molly by doing the same." He frowned pensively. "He said there were ways I could help too."

A cold feeling poured down Claude's spine. "And what ways are these?" he asked.

Peter looked up, meeting Claude's eyes. There was a gleam there Claude didn't like. "He said the Company is looking for me. That because of my powers they think I'm dangerous and they want to put me away." Claude nodded to let Peter know this wasn't news. "Bennet thinks I should let them. I should get caught on purpose or turn myself in. That way I could gather information from the inside or--"

"No," Claude said.

Peter's mouth clamped shut.

"What about you?" he asked. "What did Bennet ask you to do?"

"He wants me to go to the Ukraine with him and the Haitian," Claude said. "Pay a visit to an old mentor of ours and maybe find some paintings Isaac Mendez did before he died."

"Paintings of what?" Peter asked.

"The downfall of the Company, supposedly," Claude said. "Anyway, there's eight of them. Suresh and Bennet only have two." He hesitated. "One shows the death of an old friend of your mother's--Kaito Nakamura. Hiro Nakamura's father."

Peter's shoulders stiffened at this news.

"The other painting shows Bennet's death," Claude said.

Peter nodded, absorbing this impassively before shifting on his seat, leaning forward.

"If I went and things got bad, I could always get out," he said. "I can walk through walls, remember?"

"You couldn't," Claude said. "They'd feed you these pills that subdue your powers. Make you like any other prisoner in any other prison. You could hide them under your tongue or whatever but they'd figure out what you were up to. If you wanted to make them trust you enough to give you the kind of information Bennet is talking about, you'd have to actually take the pills. At least at first. Which means you'd be trapped."

Peter looked at his hands. "This mentor guy…when you say the three of you are going to 'pay him a visit' you actually mean you're going to kill him. Don't you?"

"Imagine so," Claude said. "Don't know if Bennet's admitted to himself that that's what's going to happen, but I can't believe he'd leave the man alive and free to tell the Company what happened to him. Even if he couldn't tell them who it was did it, Bennet would be the prime suspect and they'd be sure to go after his family straight away."

Peter swallowed. "But what if this guy has a family? Kids or grandkids or…"

Claude shook his head grimly.

"Jesus," Peter said, running a hand through his hair. "What are you going to do?"

Claude lifted his shoulders. "Reckon it's like what you said when your family wanted you to stay through Christmas," he sad. "First it'll just be killing Ivan. Then it will be playing connect-the-dots with Mendez's paintings. Soon I'll be pulled in and I don't know if I'll be able to get back out again."

Peter nodded solemnly. "But you want to do it."

"Part of me does," Claude admitted. "Mostly just so I'll have a way of avoiding your family stringing me up by the balls if I let you do your end of it." He didn't like the way his voice wavered when he said it, but he didn't do anything to try to cover it or explain it away.

"Nathan always says I have a problem telling the difference between being a superhero and being an idiot," Peter said wryly.

"Seems to me they're the same thing," Claude said.

Peter shifted. "I've thought about this," he said. "I mean, I've actually thought about it this time. And I don't think I just want to stand around doing nothing. I'm tired of doing nothing."

"That's your mother talking," Claude said.

"Yeah, because I'm sure this is exactly what she meant when she said I should try to find something worthwhile to do with my life," Peter said.

Claude frowned. "She'll murder me, you know," he said. At Peter's skeptical look, he added. "No, really. She will. She told me so that day in the kitchen. And some of us can't come back from that the way you can, mind."

"There has to be someone out there who has the power to resurrect the dead," Peter said. "I mean, there's everything else. Why not that?"

"And I suppose you'll be putting an ad in the paper so you can find this person?" Claude said. "Anyway, I don't think it works when you've been chopped up into pieces and posted in small boxes to obscure locations around the globe." He shuddered.

Peter smiled briefly at this before becoming serious again. "We can't just do nothing," he said.

And like that, it seemed the decision was made.

Claude shifted and now it was his turn to lean forward, training his gaze on Peter so he knew the boy was listening to the sudden rush of words spilling out of him. "Inside the facility the Company has, there's this man. A prisoner. He's called Adam Monroe." He waited for Peter to nod before he went on. "Whatever you do, don't listen to a word he says. Do you understand? Not a single word."

Peter's smile was one of confusion. "You really think they'd be stupid enough to put us in two cells close enough that we could actually talk?"

"I've seen them do stupider things," Claude said. "Point is, I don't care what Adam Monroe tells you. He's a crazy, bitter old man. Don't listen to him."

The bewildered look didn't leave Peter's face even as, instead of giving Claude the promise he sought, he said simply, "I love you."

And as the words left his mouth, his arm moved and for the first time Claude could see what it was he'd been drawing before. It wasn't any kind of blood-soaked image of the future, as Claude would have guessed, but instead another sketch of the famous family tree, a copy of the one Claude had made for Peter to practice on before they'd made the trip to Washington. On it were the same predictable names: Angela and Arthur, Nathan and Heidi and their kids. Claire and Bennet. But this time in the space next to Peter's name, which was usually blank for all that he had no spouse to put there, he'd written and erased and written again two words: _Claude Rains_.

Seeing his name there, written in such neat print like Peter had actually been trying to make his usual scrawl legible for once, Claude privately despaired. He found himself wishing it was the end of the world Peter had been drawing after all--some sort of indication of what they were both walking into and how this was all going to end. The uncertainty of it all daunted him but the clock had run out and it was time to move.

END


End file.
